


This Gentle Sting

by laratoncita



Series: (We'll Figure Out the Rest) [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: Derek's having a baby with someone else. It doesn't stop him from wanting Will any less.





	1. first

**Author's Note:**

> me: derek nurse would be an awesome dad  
> me: u know what would be cool? pining!nursey who decides to have a baby with a friend instead of admitting that he wants it all with dex
> 
> title from "open" by rhye :~)

Derek wakes up as he always does — slowly. Next to him, there’s a shift, like someone is trying to stay asleep as long as possible. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees the flowers he painstakingly etched onto the bedroom ceiling while Skyping Lardo, who laughed at him when he complained about the crick in his neck. The walls are a deep ocean blue, pairing perfectly with the gray of the ceiling and the off-white of the petals there. When he focuses he can make out the yellow of pollen he couldn’t help but add.

A deep sigh. His gaze flicks to his right. The woman next to him inhales, deep, eyes moving beneath the thin skin of her eyelids. The mole beneath her left eye jumps above the smile she’s trying to stifle. She stretches, bares her breasts in a motion that Derek’s sure he’s seen described poorly by some white author or another.

He says, “You’re a shitty author’s dream.”

“Explains why you’re not in love with me,” she says back, voice rough from sleep and from a recently kicked nicotine addiction. She opens her eyes and grins at him, cheeks dimpling, the moles and freckles dancing. She rolls onto her side so that she can prop her head on her hand, looking down on him fondly.

“Something like that,” Derek says, because she knows him too well at this point, nearly ten years of friendship under their belts. He can still remember what she looked like, wearing a mustard-yellow A-line skirt with a denim button-up and flat black sandals, young and bright in a half-empty conference room. That summer they’d been interning for the New York Times. The day he first saw her she wore a red bow in her hair, half-twisted into a bun; she smiled with her teeth when she caught sight of him watching her. They spent their down-time visiting obscure bookstores and smoking weed, the smell sinking into their hair.

He says, “You think we did it?”

She rolls her eyes at him, reminding him of all the dumb shit he’s ever said to anyone. She flips the cover off of her before answering, the long lines of her body complimented by the cool, white sheets Derek uses despite the stain risk. “Well,” she drawls, a hand rubbing at her sternum, “I’m probably still ovulating, you know.”

They look at each other for a long time before Derek starts laughing.

“You could just ask me to go down on you again,” he says.

“We have an objective here, Nurse,” she says, even as he pushes her onto her back, her hands cupping his shoulders, “as sexy as you are, I’d like to be knocked up by next month.”

“Here’s to hoping,” he says, and presses a kiss to her thigh.

\---

Goscislawa Szalasny, who’s never introduced herself under either name, was born and raised in Weaverville, California. She doesn’t talk about the four-odd years she spent bouncing in and out of foster care, no family in the US and few willing (or able) to take her in on a permanent basis. Sometime during her sophomore year of high school, she ended up with the friend of her deceased father, who’d married rich and was taking in his new wife’s niece as well.

When they meet she thought she wanted to be a reporter, Derek thinking he wanted to be an editor. At some point during their friendship they switch, and then shift outwards, but it never changes the fact that the NYT gave them a friendship Derek can’t picture living without.

After she leaves Derek jumps in the shower, the mirror still fogged up. He washes away any trace of her, thankful that she’s outgrown the acrylics she favored during undergrad and that she didn’t leave any hair in his drain. Her body is a map of birthmarks and tattoos he’s immortalized in his writing. Derek thinks that maybe they could have loved each other in a different life, but as it is he’s more than happy to have her as his best friend and, hopefully soon, mother to his child.

The thought gives him butterflies. He imagines holding a child with Shaw’s dark eyes and skin the same color as his. He lets names like Salomé and Rumi sit on his tongue, wonders which they’ll use, wonders what they’ll be like. He imagines his mothers and father on holidays, arms full of a happy baby and he and Shaw looking on, proud. There isn’t anyone he’d rather do this with, except maybe –

He wipes the mirror clean. He’s got a breakfast meeting he’s got to get to, and even if he wants to impress he probably won’t. He’s got the faintest signs of stubble, not enough to have made Shaw complain, and his hair curls over his forehead in a way that his mami has always loved. He wonders what he looks like to everyone else.

Tribeca’s is pleasantly full when he arrives, enough to make the place feel lively but not so loud that it’ll be impossible to have a conversation. He sees a flash of red, and then a pair of amber eyes catch his and he has to stamp down the beaming smile the sight always pulls from him. He raises a hand, waving, and cuts through the tables as quickly as he can without stumbling. In this, too, he has yet to change.

“Hey,” Dex says, standing to hug him. He smells like eucalyptus. “How’ve you been?”

The two of them established bi-weekly breakfasts (that are staunchly not dates) almost immediately after the two of them moved to New York City. Derek had spent three years working on his MFA at Cornell following undergrad, with Dex at BU working on a Master’s in Computer Engineering. Shaw had immediately gotten a shitty temp job the year she graduated, which, years later, resulted in the most sexless three-way relationship Derek’s ever gotten himself into, even if he and Shaw are in the process of making a baby.

Not that Dex knows that, of course.

“Great, man, you know how it is. You?”

“Work,” he shrugs, and when he grins it looks so genuine that Derek feels it in his soul. “Don’t you have that big deadline coming up?”

“Ye-es,” Derek says, ducking his head a bit as they both sit down. “Two weeks. It’s been crazy.”

“Working non-stop, huh?”

“Yeah. A little.” Derek takes a sip of water. “You, and C are pretty much my only distractions. And Shaw, of course.”

“Chowder,” Dex says, smiling fondly. “Houston looks ridiculously good on him.”

“Caitlin’s glowing,” Derek agrees. “Can’t believe they’re on baby number two already.”

“Hashtag goals?” Dex jokes, and Derek flicks water at him.

“I got over that, man,” he complains, but he’s grinning all the same. He’s right, though.

“I suffered, Nurse.”

“Yeah, right. You missed me during graduate school, don’t lie.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “How’s Shaw doing? I grabbed lunch with her a week or two ago, but she always ends up in something when I least expect it.”

Derek coughs. “I, uh, spent most of yesterday with her, actually. Left this morning.”

“Aren’t the two of you too old to still be clubbing together?” Dex says, lifting an eyebrow.

Derek grins, even if it feels weak. “Something like that.”

\---

The summer of 2016, he and Shaw worked through her ex-boyfriend, also named Derek, being a cheating scumbag and her subsequent breakdown à la Eduardo Saverin. They also worked through Derek being hopelessly into Dex, so much so that he was still a little bit heartbroken about the whole Dibs debacle.

“A little?” she always said, “Are you kidding me? Fuck that guy.”

Derek, because he was Derek, would say, morose: “I’m trying.”

Not that he did, of course. This was something that haunts Derek to the present day, and not even from a sexual standpoint. The emotional hang-up was something else. He can’t remember what it’s like to live without the weight of love on him. He doesn’t remember who he was before loving Dex became intrinsic. Chowder says he’s too dramatic. He says Derek’s so much more than that, which isn’t to say loving Dex the way he does is a bad thing. It’s simply a thing, even if Derek’s never had the guts to make it go away one way or another.

Chris Chow is blessing to know; Derek reminds himself to acknowledge this more often. They won’t be able to speak for another few days, what with the road-trip the Aeros have been on for the last week or two. He’s already checked in with Caitlin and baby Georgie, who’s lately developed a penchant for pink bows in her hair and Looney-Tune themed Chucks. He saw Bitty and Jack the month before, after he and Shaw’s “second” attempt at trying to conceive. If he remembers correctly he was complaining about the amount of sex they had to have. Neither former Samwell captain had been impressed.

But living in the Haus was both a deliriously enjoyable and undeniably stressful experience. It took months for him and Dex to get back to where they were before the Dibs Flip. Dex made it up to him as best as he could, trying to explain his thought process while using all those damned “I-statements” that Derek’s psychiatrist father would have loved. Derek never got the full story; something about Dex’s own struggles to work through some personal issues on his own, which he wanted to call out despite the risk of being unchill. It sounded like bullshit. Bitty had only patted his hand in sympathy when he would complain during fall semester, but by spring break (non-existent because of hockey, at least) had rolled around, they had made as much peace as they could.

The years have made it smoother, even if a part of Derek stings every time he thinks of Dex panicking at the thought of sharing space with him. That’s what’s kept him from making a move all those years ago, and even if he’s loathe to admit it’s what keeps him from doing anything about it now. It’s been years of feeling like this. Derek will be twenty-nine in a few months, and will hopefully be expecting kids by then. He’s had it bad for Poindexter since he was twenty years old. He doesn’t know how to not be.

Shaw judges him terribly but, he muses, at least it’s made him a good poet.

\---

The next time he sees Shaw, he asks, immediately, “Are you pregnant?” and she makes a face.

“I wouldn’t know yet, asshole,” she says. She has a scarf on, her hair coiled around her head in a braid. “You confess your love to Will yet?”

“Chill,” he says. The first time she’d met Dex was at a kegster early in his junior year. He and Dex were slowly but surely mending their relationship, and a friend of hers was presenting at a conference that weekend. She skipped her Friday class and showed up in an off-the-shoulder red bodysuit and some truly killer jeans. Somewhere on a flash drive there are several photos of the two of them with SH----K drawn around their respective assets. She had one as her profile photo on Facebook for a bit after she finished up at UPenn.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m taking a test later this week, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright,” he says, and puts an arm around her, “you wanna buy me some lunch first?”

“Um, excuse me,” she says, pinching him as they walk towards a little ramen place they’re both obsessed with, “shouldn’t _you_ be buying _me_ lunch? I put up with so much. Your dick, for example.”

“We are trying to conceive a _child_ ,” he says, like he thinks it’s going to make a difference. Their ramen place is mostly empty when they walk in and are guided to their seats.

“You ruined a three-year man-free streak, Nurse,” she says, not even bothering with the menu. “I was hoping to make it to thirty without having penetrative sex with a man again.”

“Being bisexual is a blessing, isn’t it?”

“Stop with the alliteration,” she says, and he laughs.

Once they’re waiting on drinks she starts again, saying, “How _is_ Will, anyway?”

“Shaw.”

“I’m not asking about the sexual tension the two of you have maintained since at least twenty-sixteen,” she says, “I’m talking like, normal shit. I’m friends with him too.”

“I regret introducing you,” he says, which is a lie she recognizes easily. “He’s good. Work, the usual.”

“I’m sure the two of you caught up just fine then.”

“When don’t we?”

She raises her eyebrows. “He say anything about our dumbass plan?”

“Uh,” Derek says, “not in particular.”

“Really?” she says, before getting distracted by their waiter. “I would have thought he’d have something to say.”

“He always does.” Derek is fucked.

“True,” she says, and places her order. When their waiter leaves she says, “I still don’t think you telling him how you feel would be a bad idea.”

“We’ve gone over this,” he says, taking a sip from his lemon water, “ _multiple times_. It’s not going to happen.”

“What could you possibly have to lose?”

“Everything,” he says. “Him.”

She makes a face. “That’s gay.”

“That’s biphobic.”

“Fuck off,” she says automatically, “God, seriously, you’re so. This could have been solved literally any day in the last, like, eight or nine years. _Years_. Christ, we’re old.”

“I know,” Derek says, not bothering to qualify which statement.

Everything he’s said to her in the past remains true today. Dex is one of his best friends, someone who knows him so completely that it hurts to think about it being anything less. Chowder, by virtue of knowing about this crush, is the only one who knows him better. How can he put that all on the line? It always felt like they were approaching it at the wrong time, the wrong place, either or both. Twice, he thought that maybe he had a shot.

The first was at Bitty, Ollie and Wicks’ graduation. There had been a moment, after hugs and tears were exchanged, that Dex looked at him like there was something he _needed_ to say. But then Shitty and Jack and all the rest were rushing around for one last goodbye (well, not in Jack’s case) and the moment was lost. The second was at their graduation, before the ceremony while they were getting ready. Dex did up his tie for him, because the years at Andover did nothing to teach him that specific skill, and when Derek looked into his eyes it was like the entire world was looking back at him. But then Chowder’s voice came through the walls, shouting about running late, and they’d had to book it to the ceremony.

After that, Chowder and Farmer were back to California, he to Ithaca and Dex down to Boston. He checks in with everyone surprisingly often; Ollie and Wicks had surprised everyone with wedding invites this past August, and he and Tango had just had dinner the month before. It was a future full of affection that he hadn’t envisioned himself in. He hadn’t quite realized he’d make it to thirty.

When he’d said so to Chowder over the summer he’d gotten worried.

“Nursey,” he said, voice tinny over the speaker phone, “you doing alright, man?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, slow to realize how _concerning_ it must have been to hear about a friend’s struggles with depression, even if said friend is actually doing well. “I’m going great, actually. It’s weird.”

“It’s good,” Chowder said, slowly. “You’re talking to someone about all of this, right?”

“Well, you,” Derek said, and it wasn’t until Chowder didn’t respond that he realized the issue. “Wait, shit, that’s not. Wait.” He laughed a little, nervous. “I’m okay. My therapist and I have good communication skills. I’m just a little confused, you know? It’s a lot and it’s mostly good and, I don’t know, I’ve never had to handle _too good_ , if that makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Chowder said. And then, “I love you, man.”

Derek felt himself tear up. “I love you too, C.”

\---

The next week Shaw calls him on a Saturday morning. It’s more brunch time, really; he sees Dex the next day and then he’s getting dinner with his moms on Tuesday. In two weeks, it’s Thanksgiving. It’s not the same as Hausgiving but that’s fine; they don’t celebrate it, not really, but they always like to regroup together. He’s got his moms and his dad and that’s all he needs for a little while, just a little break from the real world and the life he’s living.

He says, “What’s poppin’,” because it never fails to make her laugh. Usually.

She says, “The test came back negative.”

He says, “ _Fuck_. “

“Yeah,” she says, “sorry.”

“That’s not how it works,” he says. He flicks a speck of fuzz off his countertop. “Me too, though.”

She hums. “Next ovulation date should be the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.”

“Damn,” he says. “I wanted to go home that morning.”

“You still could. We all live in the same city.”

“It makes me feel awkward,” he says. His voice is the slightest bit whiny.

“I’m pretty sure your parents know you’ve had sex.”

“Shaw, please.” After a moment he asks, “Hey…what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“That’s not a real holiday, so, nothing.” She sounds nonchalant. He’s known her too long to fall for it.

“You grew up with white people.”

“My _mother_ —”

“Was Mexican, I know,” he says. "That doesn't change the fact that you're from fucking Weaverville." She laughs a little on the other end. “Why don’t you come home with me?”

She’s silent for a moment. “Do they even know you’re trying to have a kid?”

“Mmm, no,” he admits. “But it’s not like they don’t know you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Shaw,” he says again, “come on. At least on Thursday stop by.”

“They won’t mind?”

“You’ve spent holidays with us before.”

“Not ones this like. Fraught.”

He starts laughing. “Okay, true. It doesn’t matter. Come by.”

She sighs. “Yeah.” And then, “Are we fucking on Tuesday though?”

The answer is yes, meaning Shaw shows up after work in a sharp plum pencil skirt and a cream-colored button up. She says, “I hate my job.”

Her heels have red bottoms, and she kicks them off haphazardly in the direction of his closet. Her excuse has always been something along the lines of treating herself so long as most of her money goes towards savings. Her favorite lingerie brand is TIALS, so he’s not totally sure how it works. She stretches out on the couch.

“How’s editing going?” she asks. Her nails are painted red today.

“Good,” he says, “I think I’m done.”

“Are poets ever really done?”

“Sometimes,” he says, and offers her some tea. “You hungry?”

“A bit,” she says, and bats her eyelashes. “You gonna wine and dine me?”

“I can’t cook,” he says, “and all you know how to make is pierogi.”

“Some damn good pierogi, though,” she says, and heaves herself into a sitting position. “So. Order food, make a baby, eat some dinner?”

He grins at her. “Sounds good.”

\---

For Christmas, he drives up to Scarborough with Dex, promising his parents he’ll be back in time New Year’s, which they value infinitely more than Christmastime. He and Dex argue over the latest Lorde album and Derek goes off for twenty minutes about the whole Jay-Z-Beyoncé debacle that people still talk about. Dex looks at him fondly whenever they come to a stop, occasionally goading him into continuing whatever tangent he’s gone off on. They pull over for brunch and Dex talks about his team at work and how he thinks he’ll be getting another raise soon. He makes Derek read a couple of the tamer poems from his newest collection while they wait for their orders, and Derek feels like he could stay in this moment forever.

Dex’s brother is there when they arrive, with his wife and kids, the youngest maybe eight months old and with wispy, strawberry blond hair curling around his ears. Dex’s niece, four years old with the same color and pattern, eagerly climbs Will once they’re through the door.

“Hey, Viv,” he says, hugging her close. Derek feels warm, and happy, and safe. Dex’s mom catches sight of him soon enough, engulfing him in a massive hug despite her being a full foot shorter than him.

“Derek!” she says, red hair curly and wild in the early-afternoon light, “It’s so good to see you!”

It’s not the first time Derek’s spent a holiday with them. His been up for Thanksgiving, since his family doesn’t celebrate it, as well as for Easter before, since his moms had decided to go to Mexico to visit, distant relatives one year. The one holiday he’s never, and probably _will_ never, be up for is New Years, and that’s because his moms are the most Latinx Latinas to ever exist. He loves it.

“Hi, Mrs. P,” he says, and she tugs at his collar a little.

“Don’t you start with all that formality,” she scolds, “you know you’re with family here.”

“Sorry, Gen,” he says, and once she’s secure in the knowledge that she won’t have to deal with any _ma’am_ ’s turns to Will to give him kisses. Derek appreciates that the blushing is a constant thing, set off by anything and everything. At the very least, Will looks pleased.

“Lizzie not in yet?” Dex says, and his brother shakes his head.

“She said she’d come over for breakfast tomorrow.”

Derek will never understand waking up early to open presents. It just makes more sense to stay up until midnight.

Over supper, Genevieve Poindexter interrogates Derek over his forthcoming novel—

“It’s a poetry collection, m— Gen.”

“Honey, you’re getting _published_ , that’s a big deal.”

“I mean, it’s not the first time—”

“You hear this guy? Published _again_ and he thinks it’s no big deal—”

“Aaron, don’t be rude. But Derek, sweetheart—”

“The poems are good,” Dex offers, and Aaron, his wife, Genevieve and his father all turn to look at him. Derek’s definitely imagining the way his face is going pink. “What? He read some to me earlier.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Derek’s phone rings. Their heads swivel to him instead. He blinks, and then surreptitiously peeks at the screen, despite the attention he’s already gotten. He feels his brow furrow when _Shaw_ flashes on his screen.

“Sorry,” he says, briefly making eye contact with Genevieve and then with Dex. He grins a little sheepishly. “I gotta take this.”

He ducks out of the dining room, heading outside to the front porch rather than risk someone overhearing their conversation. Shaw doesn’t usually call him unless it’s to bitch about something one of her interns has done, and it’s past the time she would normally have gone home already.

“What’s good, b?” he says. Shaw snorts into the phone, a disgusting sound as any. He grimaces.

“You’re so New York it _hurts_ ,” she says. “You busy?”

“Eating.”

She says, “It’s like, five.”

“I’ve been on the road half the day.”

“Isn’t it, like, a six-hour drive?”

“Shaw.” He feels a tug in his belly, worried, suddenly. 

She’s silent for another few seconds, and he envisions her chewing on her lip. He hears her take a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

His ears ring.

“Oh shit.”

A huff of air. “That’s it?”

“Oh _shit_ ,” he says again, except now he’s grinning so wide he’s sure lights could reflect off his very expensive smile. “Are you for real?”

“False positives aren’t real,” she says. He can imagine the smile she’s got to be mirroring. “Congrats, _papito_ , you’re going to be a father.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. “This is. Wow.”

“Mhmm,” she says. “I’m about to call my OBY, but I figured I’d let you know you never have to have sex with me again.”

“God,” he laughs, “you’re _so annoying._ I love you so much.”

“Are you crying?” she says, “Go eat dinner. I love you too.”

“The _wooorst_ ,” he sing-songs, then, “okay, bye, love you,” _again_ , because it’s instinctual, and then hangs up. He stays outside for another minute, breathing deeply. He can’t stop smiling.

When he walks back into the dining room, Aaron and his mother are discussing something about the baby, and Dex raises an eyebrow at him. Derek shrugs, but he’s still grinning.

“Son,” Dex’s dad says, capturing his attention for just a moment. “I want to congratulate you on another book. It’s big news. Good news.”

Derek ducks his head, grateful he can’t blush.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, even as Gen shakes her head at him, looking fond. “I appreciate that.”

 Across from him, Dex smiles.

\---


	2. second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> derek nurse loves kissing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

For Mamá’s birthday on the nineteenth, Derek and Shaw bundle up to face the New York cold and head over to Derek’s parents’ home in Uptown. Derek hovers near her, insisting she take a seat when one opens up on the subway. She gives him the most unimpressed look she can manage before taking the seat anyway.

“It’s not that serious,” she tells him, and he wrinkles his nose.

“I’m not going to make you stand. You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not _injured_ ,” she says. “You sure you don’t want to save your strength for face your parents?”

A thrill goes through him, part excitement, part nerves. “They’ll take the news well.”

“Will they?” she asks. “Their son is having a baby out of wedlock with some orphan out of California.”

“Shaw,” he says, reaching out to tug on an errant, well-curled lock of hair, “you’ve been on the East Coast since you were eighteen.”

“I wouldn’t call UPenn East Coast.”

“Close enough,” he says.

She laughs, the sound making him feel soft and fond. “I love how _that’s_ gonna be the issue.”

“My parents grew up in New York,” he reminds her, “well. Mamá’s from Arizona, so she thinks the West Coast is the best coast, but we forgive her for that.”

He can tell that Shaw had to bite her lip from shouting “best coast” back at him. He’ll never understand Californians.

“Your mamá is my favorite, first of all,” Shaw says, “I’m mostly concerned they’re going to give us sad eyes and make us talk about love and how we feel about each other.”

“You’ve told me you love me multiple times,” Derek says.

“Usually when I’m drunk and want fast food, you ass,” she says, grinning up at him. He adjusts her scarf for her. “You tell me you love me every time I get off the phone with you.”

“It’s _habit_ ,” he insists, “whatever, you think it’s cute. This is our stop.”

“You’re full of shit,” she says, but lets him take her hand as they get off.

Someone — probably Mami, because she’s the more sentimental one, something that Derek has definitely inherited from her — has decorated the front door with pink hearts in preparation for Valentine’s Day. He makes note to chirp her for it. The house looks warm and full, the windows glowing yellow from the inside. If he listens closely he can hear his parents laughing together, and he can almost smell maduros and buñuelos frying.

He rings the doorbell, and soon the door is swinging open, Mamá’s cheerful face greeting them excitedly. He gets only a single shoe off before she loses patience and throws her arms around him.

“Mi’jo, you’re too _thin_ ,” she says, long fingers framing his face. “What are you doing down in Manhattan?”

“We’re still in Manhattan, Ma,” he says, and she clicks her tongue at him. He hears Shaw stifle a laugh, and sees that she’s been more successful in stripping out of her winter layers. Her sweater — a deep wine color — hangs loosely on her frame, even if she’s in a pair of clingy black leggings. Her socks have cacti on them.

“Hi, Jael,” she says to Derek’s Mami, who lingers in the doorway with a sweet smile on her face. She beams at Shaw, drawing her close to wrap her arms around her.

“Hi, honey,” she says, “thank you for coming over. You hungry? Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Shaw says obediently, just as Mamá pinches Derek’s cheek. “I’m cutting back on caffeine. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

“Colombian empanadas,” says Mamá, finally releasing Derek from her hold, “because we’re nothing if not a multicultural household.”

“Is Dad here?” Derek asks, and Mami nods towards the kitchen.

“He’s making sure we don’t burn down the house.”

“Derek gets that from you, huh?” Shaw says, and Derek marvels at how odd it is for her to say his name. She usually defaults to _Nurse_ , a habit that held over from Ex-Boyfriend Derek.

Mami laughs. “Yes, unfortunately. Malik is the most gifted chef out of the three of us.”

“I can hear you,” Derek’s father says, and Derek grins. Home always feels this good.

Dinner consists of mole colorado, mantu, and empanadas con aji, with sides of challow, maduros and tostones, and champurrado and good Dominican coffee for desert. Shaw says the atole is as good as her mother's used to be. There’s a spinach salad with fruit and almonds that nobody touches until Jael fixes them all with disappointed looks. They sing to Mamá in English only, because otherwise it’ll take too long, and she’s been making eyes at the buñuelos since they sat down. After, Shaw nibbles on a María while they discuss Derek’s upcoming publication.

“I’m happy for you, baby,” Mami says. “But tell me, do you need a translator?”

“Don’t volunteer me for jobs that won’t pay, amor mía,” Mamá says, and Derek laughs.

“It hasn’t come up,” he admits, and Mami shakes her head.

“They should translate it to Farsi, too,” she says, sending Malik a meaningful glance.

He sighs, but humors her.  “All languages for our son, I’d say.”

“Dad,” Derek complains, but then Shaw joins in.

“I can probably get a half-decent Polish version for you.”

“See!” Mami says, “I’m onto something here.”

They laugh together, exchanging work stories for a long while. When Derek senses the night coming to a close, he makes eye contact with Shaw, who quirks an eyebrow. He nods, taking a deep breath before turning to his parents and catching their attention.

He says, “Happy birthday again, Ma. Before we leave, Shaw and I wanted to share a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Mamá says, quick as ever. “For us, or for you?”

“For you three, of course,” Shaw says, because Derek can already feel himself panicking at the thought of his parents knowing he had unprotected sex. They definitely raised him to avoid surprises.

Malik raises an eyebrow, an expression that Mami mirrors unconsciously. “Well? What’s the surprise?”

When Derek looks at Shaw she’s staring at him pointedly. He resigns himself to his fate.

“We’re having a baby,” he says, eyes flickering from one parent to the next. It’s like watching a game show wheel turn. Mami’s eyes go big with surprise, and then misty from the emotion. Mamá’s jaw drops a little before she straightens, eyebrows raised like she’s going to give him a lecture. His dad’s expression quirks up before he ducks his head, hiding a knowing smile.

“Surprise,” Shaw says next to him, and she’s grinning softly when Derek looks at her.

“Of _course_ you two are having a baby,” Mamá says under her breath, and Mami starts laughing.

“Ay, Dios mío, my babies are going to be parents!” she says, and gets up to embrace them. She bestows kisses like good luck charms, her smile pressed momentarily to Shaw’s face and then Derek’s brow. She lingers, says, “Felicidades, mi amor.”

“Thank you, Mami,” he says, and Shaw echoes him.

“Congratulations, bahrreh,” Dad says, reaching out to clasp Derek and Shaw’s hands in both of his. His green eyes are shining. “You two are going to be amazing parents.”

“Faranduleros,” Mamá says, scolding, but she gets up once Mami has disappeared into the kitchen, probably for sparkling juice and champagne. She hugs Derek tightly to her, and then Shaw, who’s blushing now. “Sonsos,” she says fondly, “I love you so much. You’ll be so good at this.”

“I love you too,” Derek says. Malik watches them fondly.

“Thank you,” Shaw says, clasping Mamá’s hands in hers, “seriously, thank you. You’re like my second family.”

Derek feels his eyes tear up. Mamá smooths her palm over Shaw’s hair.

“Honey,” she says, “you _are_ family.”

\---

Two weeks before Derek’s twenty-ninth birthday, he meets Shaw at her OBY’s office for their first ultrasound. He’s so excited he could burst. She’s frowning when he catches sight of her, dark eyes looking impossibly large, almost the same color as the deep gray Eddie Bauer jacket she’s wearing.

“Hey,” he says, kissing her cheek. The freckles that had settled there during summer have disappeared, leaving just a scattering of moles.  Her face is starting to fill in, just a bit, and it makes her look younger. Derek loves it.

“Hey,” she says back, seeming distracted. His hand lingers at her waist.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and blinks, coming back to herself, and together they enter the waiting room. Shaw is uncharacteristically quiet while they wait for her name to be called. Her knee jumps. It makes Derek feel on edge. “You alright?”

Her gaze flickers towards him and then away. She purses her lips.

“It’s nothing,” she says, slowly. Her fingernails — two-toned, petal-pink, carnation at the cuticle — start thrumming against her thigh. She’s pulled off her scarf, lets it lie curled on her lap; she's dressed in a black tunic and black leggings. She’s taking a late-start today, Derek remembers, and it must be casual Friday. “It’s just…”

Derek turns in his seat, facing her profile fully. “What is it?”

She bites her lip. Straightens in her seat. She turns to him, says, “I ran into Will yesterday.”

Derek blinks. “Huh?”

She fixes him with a look he’s positive his child will be on the receiving end in the next few years. “ _Dex_. The redhead I’ve been trying to sleep with for almost as long as you?”

“That’s not all I want,” Derek says, automatic, and then wrinkles his nose. _Chill_. “And you don’t want to sleep with him.”

She says, “That’s not the point.”

Derek feels his leg start to jump despite himself. “You two are friends.”

She huffs a sigh. Pinches her nose.

“He didn’t realize I was pregnant until after he hugged me,” she says, “which. Didn’t you say you told him we were trying to have a kid?”

Derek says nothing. Her eyes narrow.

“Derek. Did you not _tell_ him?”

“I…it never seemed like the right time,” Derek admits. The two of them had started trying to get pregnant at the end of the summer. They’d spent parts of May and all of June and July ironing out details on religion, school, vaccination schedules, and any other miscellaneous issue they could come up with. Three months of planning and detoxxing and quitting their vices, whether they be food-, alcohol- or nicotine-related, were put the test in August, and it still took them until November to finally conceive. Derek always thought it would be easier than that, which is why when he’d first approached Shaw he made sure to frame it as an ongoing dialogue.

He knew to go beyond the standard _who gets primary custody?, what languages will we teach them?_ , and _I know neither of us practice Christianity anymore but my moms would love it if my kid was Catholic_. Shaw brought up the issue of private school and wills and the fact that she’d been on a lot of drugs over the years. Derek had said, “Who hasn’t?” and then they’d started working out together twice a week. Shaw usually went running with Dex on her cardio days.

Months of prep had turned into months of trying and Derek didn’t want to jinx them. He told Jack and Bitty because their daughter was a year and a half by then, and they’d used a surrogate for her birth. They were honest with their little core group from SMH, and it took them two tries to get a positive test. He almost told Chowder a thousand and one times, but something about the risk of miscarriages held him back. Shaw wouldn’t be twenty-eight for another couple of months, and she was healthy, and she didn’t have a family history of it. But still. It made him nervous.

This was what kept him from telling the rest of SMH, too, except —

That’s not what kept him from telling Dex. It should have been, but it wasn’t. Admitting it out loud makes it feel real. The, “I’m having a baby with someone else,” feels like betrayal even if it’s only in Derek’s head.

“What do you _mean_?” she demands.

Derek bites his lip. “I just. Could never bring myself to say it.”

“Wait,” Shaw says, the syllable drawing out of her mouth like silk, “if Will doesn’t know, does that mean _none_ of your friends know?”

“Not…Not many,” he says. He feels a bit hollow, untethered. “Bittle and Jack, of course. No one else.”

Shaw looks at him. He feels defensive, says, “Do _your_ friends know?”

“Dex figured it out,” she says, tone lilting, like, _I told you so_ , like she’s trying to prove something. “My boss, Paola, Leah. Javier.”

“Javier, huh?” Derek says, a little meanly.

“He’s my best friend,” she says, sharp. “Even if we didn’t work out, he’s my best friend.”

Derek says nothing for a moment. Says, finally, “How’d he take it?”

“As well as you’d expect,” she says. She moves her hand from her thigh to her stomach, presses lightly like she wants to feel something more substantial. She says, like the thought won’t leave her head, “I didn’t think I was showing that much.”

“But Dex still figured it out, huh?”

“Well I’m always all over him,” she says wryly. “He gives good hugs.”

Derek looks at her. “You look good,” he says. “But. You do look pregnant.”

She makes a face. “I don’t want to be one of those girls who gains forty pounds and gives birth to a six pound kid. And you’re still deflecting.”

He sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He says as much.

“Nurse,” Shaw says, “you need to tell him we’re having a kid together.”

He feels his face scrunch up. That doesn’t — “Wait…you didn’t?”

“That’s not my business to tell,” she says, and Derek flails a bit. She leans away from him.

“Hold up,” he says, “you just, didn’t mention who the dad was?!”

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to say!” she says, eyebrows pulling together. “Was there something I should have said?”

“I just — I mean, I wouldn’t know what to tell him.”

“Hmm,” she says, crossing one knee over the other. “So you wanted me to make it easy for you then? Have _me_ rip off the Band-Aid?”

“…yes,” Derek says. Shaw closes her eyes like there’s a very heavy weight on her she needs to brace herself to carry.

When she opens them a nurse calls out, “G. Szalasny!” and only fucks up the first syllable.

Shaw says, “We’re not done talking about this,” and stands, letting Derek trail after her as they walk into an examination room. They exchange greetings with the technician, who confirms that Shaw’s had an ungodly amount of water already. They exchange pleasantries while she warms up the gel on Shaw’s taut belly, taking note of whatever it is she sees on the screen.

“How long ago was your last period?” she asks.

“Second week of November,” Shaw says, and the technician’s eyebrows quirk for just a second.

She says, “The doctor will be in in a moment,” leaving the two of them to blink at each other.

“Chill,” Derek says, though whether it’s a response or a plea is unclear even to himself. He resists the urge to touch the gel. Shaw has her hands folded just under her breasts, fingers linked. She has a wisp of hair curling over her face, the end lingering at the corner of her mouth. When she looks away from the door she catches Derek’s eye, and her eyelashes flutter when he reaches to push the soft brown strands behind her ear. He says, “You excited?”

“Mhmm,” Shaw says, smiling softly like she rarely does. She’s always on edge, Derek knows; she reminded him a lot of Dex when they first met, even if he’s long learned the difference. She’s loud and a little mean and as interested in the pleasurable things in life as anything else. Her soft parts are far different than Dex’s, which come from a lifetime of family and happiness found outside of himself, a reality that was far different than what Shaw had.

Derek doesn’t want to say which one is better or worse. He thinks that certain kinds of joy might be easier, though.

“Good morning,” echoes through the room as the door swings open. A small woman with warm brown skin steps into the room, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a low bun. She has deep-set eyes and a full, dark mouth, which curves upwards at the sight of Shaw’s shining belly. “Hello, Mom and Dad. How are we feeling today?”

“Hi, Doctor Rivera,” says Shaw. She smiles as she introduces them. “This is Derek, the father of my unborn child.”

 _Of course_ she introduces him that way. Derek greets her, standing up partway to shake Dr. Rivera’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise. How have you been feeling?” she says to Shaw as she moves the sensor over her skin.

“Good.”

“No nausea? Adverse reactions to food? You’ve cut out everything on the list I sent you, correct?”

Derek’s eyebrows raise.

“Yes,” Shaw says, “even hummus.”

“You can’t eat hummus?” Derek asks.

“I can’t eat _anything_ ,” Shaw says, but she’s grinning a little when she glances away from her stomach and towards him.

“That’s a slight exaggeration,” Dr. Rivera says. Her eyebrows scrunch up. “Szalasny, you said your last period began two weeks before Thanksgiving?”

“Mm, yes,” she says, “on the thirteenth.”

“Interesting,” the doctor mutters, “it looks a bit — oh!” Her voice lilts high.

A cold, worried feeling starts in Derek’s stomach. Conceiving a child has made him more anxious than usual; he wonders if parenthood will have the same effect.

“Doctor?” Shaw says, when she doesn’t immediately say anything, “Is everything okay?”

She reaches out to Derek as she speaks, fingers curling over his. He squeezes her palm in comfort, but her eyes don’t waver from where they’re fixed on Dr. Rivera.

“Hmm?” Dr. Rivera says, looking away from the screen. “Oh, yes, honey, they’re nearly perfect.” She pushes the screen so that it faces them, and in Derek’s head there’s an echo of _they, they, they_.

Shaw’s grip loosens. Dr. Rivera says, pushing the wand against Shaw’s skin _hard_ , “I was just saying the baby looked a bit small, but _here_ is baby one, and _here_ is baby two. Fraternal. Perfect proportions and exactly what an eleven-week-old fetus should look like, they’re just a bit crunched for space in there. They look good.”

“Baby one?” Derek says, at the same time Shaw whispers, “Baby _two_.”

“Congratulations, Mom and Dad,” Dr. Rivera says, printing off several photos and then reaching for several paper towels. “You two are having twins! You’ll hit thirty-six weeks on July twenty-third. Most girls go into labor around thirty-seven weeks, rather than thirty-nine or forty, but as long as you make it to the twenty-third you should be fine.”

“Twins,” Shaw repeats, and Dr. Rivera pats her knee. She passes Derek the photos and the paper towels.

“Feel free to linger as long as you need,” she says, standing, “just make sure to schedule a follow-up for next month. Once you hit eighteen weeks we can find out the babies’ sexes. Congrats!”

She ducks out like Derek and Shaw aren’t in the middle of two major, separate meltdowns. Shaw is squeezing his hand again, and he’s not sure how to get her to let go.

“Derek,” she says, and he feels her fingernails dig into his skin. “Derek Malik Nurse. You gave me _twins_.”

“They’re fraternal,” he says, not even thinking of filtering himself. She finally looks away from the screen, turned off, to give him the most murderous look he’s ever encountered. He can physically feel his soul ascending. “Uh.”

“ _Twins_ ,” she says, and then grabs for the napkins. She mutters under her breath as she wipes the gel off herself. He hears, “no wonder I’m getting fat,” before she turns to him again, tugging her clothes into place. There’s a gleam in her eye that Derek has long learned to fear.

“Well,” she says with a flourish, “won’t _this_ be fun to explain to Will Poindexter?”

\---

Shaw refuses to be with him when he admits to Dex that he’s been lying by omission for the past seven months. He tried to argue it at first, saying that it isn’t that big a deal. Shaw tells him that if she was able to tell her best friend / ex-boyfriend with whom she is still trying to reach a new normal, then Derek should have probably mentioned something to his best friend even if he is also a long-time unrequited love. Derek hates social science majors with a passion. When he says as much to Shaw she calls it a matter of a heart, “which is all humanities, don’t you think?” and he has nothing better to say to her.

She might have also had a minor meltdown on her way to work after the appointment, and he still feels so guilty about it he can’t bring himself to chirp her into changing her mind. He knows it’s not his fault, but Derek has always taken things to heart. He knows this about himself.

He and Dex grab lunch the Monday after the first ultrasound, and Derek has carefully printed out copies of the sonograms, now tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket. February has yet to warm up, the cold lingering so that the ice and snow keeps freezing and melting in turns.

Nish Nush smells heavenly, like warm bread and fresh hummus. He sweeps his eyes over the lunch crowd and doesn’t see Dex; he chooses seats across from the counter, near the window. He fiddles on his phone for a moment, texts his parents about dinner plans on Friday.

He’ll be twenty-nine soon, he reminds himself. Holster and Esther are grabbing breakfast with him on Saturday morning en route to visit her family in Staten Island. Whiskey’ll be in town for a game the day after his birthday and promised to make time for drinks. He’s having birthday dinner at his parents’ in the evening. Shaw said she’d treat him to breakfast on the fifteenth, since her foster sister was going to be in town.

Derek, suddenly, sharply, feels like a fool. He was never going to be able to hide this, and really, did he even want to?

Of course not. This is something he wants. Something he feels ready to take. He had one of the most beautiful childhood’s known to man, he thinks. He had a father who built the world for him, a mother who filled it with love and joy, and another one who taught him how to navigate in and out of it. His parents did _such_ a good job, he thinks. He wants the opportunity to do the same.

Yes, he’s scared. He’s got two kids on the way when he was expecting one, and if one is hard then what does that say about twins? But he wants this. He wants this so badly he can taste it, like iron on his tongue.  It’s just that — it’s just that he wants Dex, too. The two have always felt mutually exclusive. And Derek — Derek loves Dex, loves Will. He _does_. Love does not hinge on reciprocity but it sure as hell would be nice, he thinks.

What is Will going to say, anyway?

He’s sees a flash of orange. His stomach feels tight. He loves these children suddenly and fiercely, like the essence of his being has been boiled down into something as simple and as blessed as a grain of rice. Or a seed, maybe. Dex walks in, smiles when he catches sight of him, and Derek thinks, _what if this is it?_

Something must show on his face, because once they’ve ordered their meals and sat back down Dex leans forward, earnest, his hand on Derek’s wrist. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Yeah. Just a little busy, you know. Stressed.”

Dex frowns. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and then, quickly, before he can change his mind over three simple syllables, “Shaw’s pregnant.”

Something like confusion flickers on Dex’s face. He says, “Yeah, I saw her a few…days ago…”

The sentence fades in his mouth. Derek watches as pink crawls up his neck.

“Oh,” Dex says, like he’s figured it out. “I didn’t realize — the two of you —” He pauses. Swallows. “Congrats.”

It feels wrong. Hollow.

“When is she due?” Dex says, and Derek can’t place the tone.

“Uh, end of July,” Derek says, feeling wrong-footed. “It’s, um. It’s twins, actually.”

Dex’s expression twists more towards surprise than — whatever it’s settled on at the moment. When he speaks again it sounds more genuine: “That’s great, Nursey. Congratulations. Uh. I hadn’t realized that was a thing —”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “yeah, I mean. It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time, you know? And the timing was right.”

“Mhmm,” Dex hums, distracted. “I mean, you and Shaw, it’s been, like, eight or nine years of knowing each other, right?”

“About,” Derek says, “and. You know, she’s like, my best friend after you and C. I mean. It just makes sense.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dex says. “Uh. How long, um, have you two —”

“We started talking about it in, uh, May? June?” Derek says, “I mean, I feel like we did this all very adult-like, but. Yeah.”

“June?” Dex asks. His mouth is very slightly pulled down at the corners. Derek wants to know why. “Oh, that’s. Fast.”

“You think so?” Derek says. He and Shaw had been expecting to immediately conceive, but maybe Dex’s brother had had trouble with the latest baby and mentioned it to him.

“I mean — ” Dex cuts himself off. Says, “No, really, that’s awesome, Nurse. I’m happy for you.”

The words taste like a lie. “Thanks, man,” Derek says anyway. “I appreciate it.”

\---

He calls Chowder first. It’s late enough during the day that he knows he’s not at practice, and the Aeros don’t have a game until Tuesday, anyway. It’s a home game against Chicago, which means Derek has to tell him to have no mercy (not that Chowder ever does when it comes to hockey games).

“Hey, C,” he says once the connection goes through. FaceTime still isn’t up to anyone’s standards, and Derek’s long lost any hope of it improving.

“Hey, Nursey!” Chowder says, and his smile is enough to dissipate at least seventy percent of the tension in Derek’s body. They must be on the couch, because Georgie, sans bow, is attempting to climb onto Chowder’s head. He touches her hair unthinkingly before turning back to Derek. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Derek says, stretching out on the floor next to his arm chair.  Mami inherited her older cousin’s property while he was in grad school, and had gifted him the apartment when he graduated from Cornell after a few years of renting. The value of the gift is mind-boggling. His parents, meanwhile, much prefer their house in Uptown, where he had grown up. “Just got home from work. You?”

“Playing with Georgie,” Chowder says, cheerful as ever. “she wants me to read to her, but she usually knocks out when we do that, so I’m trying to distract her.”

“Normally I would encourage more reading time,” Derek says, “but I think you’re good.”

Chowder laughs. “ _I_ think we’re going to need to buy her more books. She goes through them so fast.”

“Good,” Derek says, and perks up at the sound of Caitlin’s voice from somewhere in their home.

“Is that Nursey?”

“Hey, Farmer!” Derek shouts, voice echoing in his living room. Georgie fixes him with an unimpressed look that delights him. “Hi, Georgie. You talking to me today?”

“I don’t know why she gets shy around you,” Cait says, coming into range of the phone’s camera, and then, “hi, Derek.”

“Hi, Cait,” he beams.

“How’s work?”

“Good,” he says, “they’re shooting for an August publication.”

“Nice,” she says. Her tee is stretched hilariously over her belly. He feels tired just looking at her. “Any chance we can get some advance copies?”

“Do you _want_ an advance copy?”

Farmer makes the same face her daughter was making. Derek laughs, feeling joyous for the first time all day. “Anything you want, Farms.”

“Um, what about me?” Chow demands, but he’s gazing at Farmer like he couldn’t want anything else in the world.

“You’re alright.”

“Hey!” he says, and turns to grin at Derek.

Caitlin makes a clicking noise. “You look tired, dude.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “it’s been a long week.”

“It’s Monday.”

“Cait,” Chowder says, “the man is an _artist_ , he loses track of time.”

“Chirp, chirp, capitán,” Derek says. He sighs. “It’s been a busy couple of days.”

“Tell me more,” Chowder says, but not meanly, more like he wants to know it all. Derek feels incredibly fond.

“It’s a little bit of a story,” he admits.

“We have time,” Cait says, and takes a seat next to Chowder on the couch, pulling Georgie into her arms as best as she can.

“Okay,” Derek says, and begins.

Farmer gasps when he says they’re having twins. Chowder might be crying.

“Derek, this is so exciting!” she says, patting her husband’s shoulder. “Congratulations, you’re going to be such a good dad!”

“Thanks, Cait,” he says, grinning at her and then at teary-eyed Chowder.

“This is sw’awesome,” Chowder says, “seriously, this is such good news. Our kids are gonna be best friends.”

“For sure,” Derek says, and the smile on his face feels permanent. “You have no idea how bad we freaked out when they told us that, though.”

“Well of course you freaked out,” Farmer says, “you two were trying for one baby, which is hard enough. Especially since the two of you aren’t together. It’s just different, obviously, not better or worse.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “I know. It’s just a lot. Good, but a lot.”

She smiles at him. Georgie starts fussing, and she stands, checking her diaper as she goes.

“Let me change her,” she says, “have you told anyone else though?”

“My parents,” he says, raising his voice a bit so she can hear him as she leaves the room. “Dex. I don’t know who Shaw has told. About the twins, at least.”

“Oh, you told Dex already?” Chowder says, perking up. Derek doesn’t like the look in his eye. “How’d he take it?”

Derek opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs at his stubble.

“It was…weird,” he admits. “Super weird.”

Chowder frowns. “How?”

“Like…he was really uncomfortable? I don’t know.” He pauses to think for a moment. “I don’t know, like, he seemed more normal when talking about, like. It being twins? But me saying Shaw and I were having kids…that was weird.” Derek shrugs. “He ran into Shaw last week and noticed she was pregnant, but she didn’t tell him I was the dad.”

“Oh,” Chowder says. “That’s a little weird, I guess. Did you explain the situation?”

“I mean…no?” Derek says. Chowder’s in disbelief. “It seemed like he guessed it!”

“Are you sure?” Chowder says. His eyebrows are pulled together, the concern nearly comical. “Maybe he’s thinking differently.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says. “It’s whatever. I’ve gotta call Bitty later and tell him and Jack the news, but afterwards I’m just gonna send a group text.”

“That works,” Chowder says, still like he thinks Derek is missing something.

Derek ignores it, says, “You wanna see the ultrasound?” and laughs when Chowder jumps off the couch.

\---

In early March Derek starts compiling a list of baby items they’ll need. Everything he Googles scares him, and sometimes he sends breastfeeding-related regalia to Shaw in a panic. _How do you use this?_ , he’ll ask, and she sends back a bunch of close up photos of his face that she still has despite them having been taken during undergrad. Sometimes he thinks he loves her.

She comes over for dinner on Friday, and when she pulls her jacket off he feels like someone’s punched him in the gut. He hasn’t seen her in person in around two weeks, and somehow she’s managed to change drastically in that time. She’s in a mustard yellow wrap dress, and her belly protrudes delicately underneath the fabric.

She says, “Your children have too much energy.”

“You have ADHD,” he says, and she lets him wrap her up in a long hug.

“You’re soft, old man,” she says, and he gently puts a hand on her stomach.

“I am,” he admits, “how are you feeling?”

“Same as always,” she says, “except for the occasional heartburn. I also really miss cigarettes.”

“ _I_ really hate how you plan on taking that back up once the kids are born,” he tells her, because he does.

“After I’m done breastfeeding,” she says, “and anyway, I might not _want_ to by then. We’ll see.”

“Shaw.”

“Nurse.”

He kisses her eyebrow. “I made khoresh e alu,” he says, and step-hops away when she swats at him, laughing.

“I didn’t realize I’d have you this whipped,” she says, following him into the kitchen, “or else _I’d_ have brought up having kids.”

“Leave the ideas to the professionals,” he says.

“I’m a compliance specialist with degrees from _two_ Ivy Leagues, Nurse,” she says, laughing, “God, shut _up_.”

“Do they really move that much?” he asks after serving her a hearty portion of the stew over rice he managed to avoid burning.

“They’re just starting to,” she says, pouring herself and then Derek some lime-and-chia water. “I really do have killer heartburn, though.”

Halfway through the meal, after Derek has taken a massive bite, Shaw says, “Have you spoken to Will recently?”

“Urhm,” he says, mouth full. Shaw looks at his glass pointedly. He drinks. “Uh, a few weeks ago,” he says, “He, uh. Canceled on me this week.” His smile is fake. In nearly three years of seeing each other regularly for a meal _at least_ twice a month, Dex has never cancelled on him. Even when one of them was stuck in bed with a bug, they’d move things to an apartment and spend the day watching movies.

“Mhm,” she says. She sets her fork down. “I saw him last weekend. He was acting weird.”

“Oh?”

“Nurse,” she says. “You told him I’m carrying your children, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, “of course. I literally texted you the same day.”

“He was just…off,” she says finally, “like he didn’t know how to talk to me. Kept saying how happy he was for us. It was weird.”

“I, uh. I don’t know?” Derek tries. “That was kind of the same reaction I got when I told him.”

“But that’s not how he was when he first realized I was pregnant,” she says. Derek picks at his rice.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “Maybe that’s just Dex.”

“I don’t think so,” she says, quiet. “But. Whatever.” She takes a sip of her lime-water. “I just thought we were friends, is all.”

“Shaw…”

“Anyway,” she says, louder this time. “The next sonogram is April tenth. Keep your schedule clear.”

“Yeah,” he says, “of course. When’s your appointment this month?”

“A week from today,” she says, “it won’t be that exciting.”

“I don’t care,” Derek says, and she smiles.

\---

At twenty-one weeks, the two of them go in for the sonogram appointment that will tell them their children’s sex (“ _Not_ gender,” Derek says, and Shaw says, “Please, I understand where you’re coming from, I’m gay too, but I just want to know if I have to buy two of everything or if I can have a little more fun than that.”).

The technician is one they don’t recognize, a man with eyes greener than Derek’s and dreads pulled back in a neat ponytail. He’s kind.

Derek holds Shaw’s hand tightly, nervous for whatever reason, while she chats amicably with the technician. Her belly looks like a blessing, and it thrills him to know he’s getting another photo of his children today. “You’re amazing,” he says to her, and even if she rolls her eyes the technician looks touched.

Dr. Rivera is matter-of-fact as ever, asking after Shaw’s sleeping habits and any issues she’s been having. She advises she drink a ton of water when she complains about pain in her hands when she types, says the symptoms should go away once she’s given birth. Shaw looks displeased, but sits through her pressing the wand to her skin and makes all the measurements she needs to.

Once she’s done she turns the screen towards them, says, “Here’s baby one! This is a good position.” She pushes against Shaw’s skin a little harder, and on the screen white and black morphs into limbs. “Here’s a head, and some legs…”

She smiles fondly at the screen, and then looks towards them. “This looks like a girl,” she says, pressing a button that Derek assumes will result in them getting photos. She moves the wand further, closer to Derek now, and says, “Here’s baby two. Arms, legs, a butt…a-ha! Baby boy.”

More clicking. Derek looks at the screen, the little limbs all exposed. Shaw’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he can’t bring himself to look at her.

Dr. Rivera hands Shaw the photos, grabbing a paper towel once she’s got a good grip on them. “Here you go, guys. Have a good rest of your day, and don’t forget to schedule a follow-up. Call me if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Derek manages, and Shaw carefully curls his fingers around the photos. Her pale blue blouse has a spot just under the belly-button where she missed a spot of gel. He walks out with her in a daze.

“You okay?” she asks when they exit the building. They’re close to the doors, but well out of anyone’s way. They’re close to each other out of necessity.

He puts his hands on her hips, and she leans into him, arms wrapping around his back despite how her belly divides them. It’s funny, he thinks, that it’s proof of them together.

“I’m good,” he says. “A little overwhelmed. I’m really happy.”

She smiles. Her hair is curling today, the humidity make it stick up, wild. He can almost see the freckles that will start to crop up in the coming months. April is already giving them far more sun than what they’ve been dealing with all winter. She has a light jacket on, russet-brown. It clashes with her black leggings, which she’s favored lately. She says she can’t wait for her belly-button to pop out.

Derek says, “I really love you, you know?”

“That’s soft,” she says, but when she smiles there are dimples.

“Shut up,” he says, no heat, and tugs her closer. “Why are you like this.”

“ _This_ is the shit,” she says, and then Derek kisses her.

He sees the surprise in her eyes for a split second before he closes his eyes, but she doesn’t push him away, even if she has the right to. He feels her hands clutch at his jacket, brushes her tongue with his own. Her mouth is soft as ever.

“Come on,” he says when they pull apart. There’s a blush high on her cheeks, and she lets him keep his arm over her shoulder as they start walking. “We gotta tell my parents.”

“You’re whipped,” she says, “but yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

\---


	3. third

Farmer gives birth to Beatrice Chow on a rainy day at the end of April. Of course, it’s only raining in New York. In Houston, the weather is sunny, a comfortable sixty-five degrees that the locals will no doubt miss in the coming months.

Derek wakes up later than usual, because he doesn’t have class or office hours today, and the night before he had been out with a fellow professor who needed to vent about her undergrads and their inability to create multifaceted characters of color. It’s a long-standing issue that Derek’s more than willing to hear about.

He wakes up to seven messages from Chowder, the most recent one being what woke him up. It says, _Bea is here :)_ and Derek nearly falls off the bed when he realizes what it means. He vaguely notices that the first message was sent three hours earlier, around just before six in the morning. He’s vaguely disappointed that waking up at nine is now sleeping in for him.

He immediately hits call, realizing belatedly that maybe he should have texted back instead.

Chowder immediately answers. “I didn’t wake you up did I? I wasn’t sure if you had class today.”

“C,” Derek says, voice still a little rough from sleep, “I could care less about sleep right now. Babies are more important.”

His laugh is music to Derek’s ears.

“She’s perfect,” he says, and Derek can perfectly imagine his glowing face. “She looks like Cait.”

“She better,” Derek says, “considering she took two extra weeks to get herself ready for the three of you.”

“Poor Cait,” Chowder says, “she’s a pro at this.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Derek says, and hauls himself up. He groans as he stretches, and Chris snorts over the phone.

“Busy night?”

“Eh,” Derek says, “I went out for drinks. I’m just old.”

“You are not.”

“You’re right,” he says. “Are you with the baby right now?”

“Yup,” he says, “the three of us are hanging out in Cait’s room. Her mom’s got Georgie at home, said she’d bring her over after lunch, once Cait’s slept a little bit.”

“Nice,” Derek says. “Do me a favor? Make the baby cry.”

“Derek!” He sounds shocked. Caitlin must say something, because Derek hears him go, _Nursey wants me to make the baby cry!_ and he laughs.

There’s noise, and then Cait says, “Why are you trying to bully my newborn infant.”

“Let me hear her cry,” Derek says, and Caitlin laughs, too.

He hears Chowder go, _Cait!_ , and then an infant’s cries start up, startlingly clear over the phone. Derek feels himself tear up.

“That good for you?” Cait says after a moment.

“Yes.”

“You’re a freak,” she says, “I’m going to do the same when the twins are born.”

“I just love hearing babies cry for the first time,” Derek says, rubbing a hand over his eye. He lingers in front of the bathroom mirror, needing to brush his teeth but unwilling to hang up. “We did that with my cousins all the time.”

“You Nurses are _weird_ ,” Caitlin insists. “I’m passing you back to Chris.”

“Congrats, mama,” he says, and she thanks him before Chowder’s put back on.

“Are you done tormenting my child?” he says.

“For now,” Derek answers, and they share a laugh. “Congrats, man. Give my love to the girls.”

“Of course, Nursey,” Chowder says, sounding soft and fond and everything Derek loves about him. “I’ll text you later?”

“Whenever you get the chance, man,” Derek says. “Don’t even worry about it.”

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, still half-dressed but mostly awake, he feels strangely empty. Or rather, the house feels empty. It’s spacious, full of things his mother inherited and things that have caught his eye. But it’s just him, a house full of stuff that maybe doesn’t matter so much.

Shaw is going to start moving her stuff in sometime in June, they agreed. She’ll be staying with him once July hits, even if he’d rather she moves in as soon as she hits thirty weeks. He’s stayed up too many nights reading blog posts about thirty-one week labors, even if all of Shaw’s charts are good and Dr. Rivera is convinced she could make it to term. She’ll probably make them induce her, though. It doesn’t stop Derek from worrying.

He gets dressed, makes coffee, sits down to eat a croissant. He chews slowly, wondering if he should have asked about Georgie more, about how Cait was feeling, about how they were going to spend the summer.

He wonders if Dex has called Chowder yet. No doubt he received the same messages Derek did. Things have been just the slightest bit _off_ , lately. Even his birthday had been a little weird, though Dex had loosened up the moment Shaw started hitting on him as she usually did. He had kept looking at Derek like he needed permission to respond, though, and it rubbed Derek the wrong way.

Shaw and Will met at a Haus party in the fall of 2016. She was in town and had walked in just as Controlla had come on, exaggerating her hair-flip as he met her halfway to the door. They shouted incoherently at each other for a few minutes before he was introduced to Javi, who was presenting some research he’d completed over the summer at Cornell, and then the three of them had hopped between getting drinks, dancing, and being introduced to various members of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team. Later, Shaw would pull out a dime bag and they would all go up to the reading room to smoke, but before that, she, too, got caught up in Will Poindexter.

Derek saw her flirting with him from the other side of the room. It didn’t even hurt, is the best part. He sang to himself, absurdly, _Another one bites the dust!,_ as some Justin Bieber song or another came on, watching as Shaw touched Dex’s bicep lightly before pushing the same hand through her long hair. She smiled, dimpling, and Derek thought, _you poor thing_ , before pushing his way through the crowd to the two of them.

“You met Shaw!” Derek said when he got to them, his arm coming up around her so she knew it was just him. He was in a yellow crop top and jeans he knew for a _fact_ made his ass look good.

“What?” Shaw said, looking concerned.

“Yeah,” Dex shouted, so that he could be heard. Derek threw him a peace sign.

“You need another drink,” he said to Shaw, who blinked at him. Her cup was almost empty, and Dex only quirked a brow before one of their fourth-liners crashed into him and captured his attention.

When he got Shaw into the kitchen he said, “That’s Dex.”

Her whole face scrunched up. She said, “Your roommate? Wait. _That’s_ your roommate?”

“Yes.”

“Nurse! You didn’t say he was that hot!”

“I definitely did.”

“Oh my god.” She clutched at her hair. She said, “Derek. He’s _so_ hot.”

“I know.”

“You’re _fucked_ ,” she said, and Derek back then, like now, knew it was understatement.

After Will finished up at BU, he moved to New York to work for some company that utilized models to predict consumers’ purchase patterns. Or, that’s how Derek best understood Dex’s specific role there. He was still at Cornell at the time, but Shaw had been living in the city for a year by then and the two of them, already distant friends if not acquaintances at least, had stuck together while Derek finished up his degree.

There was a great picture of the two of them somewhere, in full workout gear and sweaty after one of their usual runs. It fueled Derek’s fantasies for months. Shaw started working as a stripper the spring he graduated, and sometimes she would FaceTime him on her way home from work. Dex would often meet her halfway between his place and the club, and in the mornings, they would Skype Derek and the three of them would have pseudo-breakfasts together. Derek thinks that maybe that’s how his bi-weekly meal tradition with Dex got its start.

If someone had told Derek ten years ago that he would be expecting twins with one best friend, hopelessly in love with another, and fiercely missing a third by the age of twenty-nine, he would have asked who their plug was. As it is, he’s content. Parts of his life throw him for a loop, and an unwelcome one at that. But in July come the babies, his parents are happy and healthy, his job is secure, and his second book is going to be released in September. Everything else should be moot.

He’s just got to convince himself of that.

\---

On his way home from the gym, Derek calls Bitty. Ostensibly it’s to confirm that Chowder’s called him with the news, but he’s also got a hodgepodge of ingredients at home that he’s not sure how to turn into a meal.

Bitty, towards the end of the conversation, asks about a baby shower.

“Uh,” Derek says, and can almost _hear_ Bitty’s expression shifting into fond bemusement.

“You’re going to throw one, aren’t you?”

“I mean…yes,” Derek says carefully. “Probably end of June?”

“Hm,” Bitty says. Bitty never hesitates unless it’s for show. “Well Shaw’s due the end of July, isn’t she? And twins are usually early.”

“So…Oh.”

Bitty waits a beat. “How does mid-June sound?”

Derek greets the doorman with a wave. “You might be onto something.”

Bitty laughs. “I can cater it if you don’t wanna find someone down there.”

“You don’t have to,” Derek says, because that’s what one does when someone offers their truly phenomenal services for free.

“I want to, first of all,” Bitty says, “second, send me a guest list. I’ll start looking at recipes.”

“Bitty,” Derek says, fond. “Thank you. I’ll get the date settled and then have Shaw call her sister or something to see if she wants to help plan it.”

“Where’s she living?”

“D.C.,” Derek says. “The older one – uh, fuck, cousin? Of the first? I don’t know what you would say for foster kids – anyway, the older one is in Buffalo, apparently, so maybe she’ll come down for a weekend and want to join too. Paola will want to fly out anyway.”

“That’s her best friend, isn’t it? Doesn’t she have another one?”

“Javi lives in Florida, I think,” Derek says. “I’ll get you the details.”

“Perfect. Talk to you later?”

“For sure,” Derek says, locking the door behind him and collapsing into a kitchen chair. He interrupts himself before he can say goodbye; “Oh! But, um, could you use a dairy free recipe or two, please? Shaw’s lactose intolerant.”

“Since when?” Bitty sounds outraged on her behalf.

“Uh, a couple months? Right around the second sonogram. Says it’s because her kids are Dominican.”

“Huh. Are you lactose intolerant?”

“I avoid milk and ice cream, mostly,” Derek says, “everything else in moderation. It’s chill, Bitty, I just don’t want to make her sick.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bitty says, distant like he’s already adapting recipes, “I’ll make sure everything comes out perfect.”

And, on the second Saturday of June that year, it does. There’s a dessert table with a chocolate-raspberry cake, lightly dusted with powdered sugar, and a vanilla lemon drizzle loaf next to it, both dairy-free. There’s also an assortment of fruit tarts, with various maze dishes serving as hors d’oeuvres and two large glass dispensers full of agua de mango and jamaica.

The guest list includes Shaw’s best friend and ex-boyfriend Javi, who she’s apparently on much better terms with now that she’s having Derek’s babies, as well as her foster sister, Leah, a redhead of about Lardo’s size with all the anger that Dex managed to work through during his time at Samwell. Leah has not processed the anger. Shaw’s best friend from undergrad, a colombiana with roots in Medellín, was also able to make the trip out.

Chowder and Farmer wouldn’t be able to make it, what with Bea still so little and the general difficulties of traveling with children. Derek was hoping for a late summer visit from the family all together. Holster and Esther were coming down from Ottawa, though, where they’d moved the year before after finally tying the knot. Esther was the primary breadwinner of the two, and Holster was eagerly awaiting the day he could become a house-husband. Whiskey, too, was busy with his final few playoff games, and Tango had gone AWOL once more, though his former d-partner claimed that he was in Patagonia for the next six to eight weeks and sent his support via email. Derek knew better than to ask.

Even so, with Ransom, Shitty and Lardo coming in from Boston and the Bittle-Zimmermann unit flying in from Montreal, _and_ Ford coming up from her stint at Emory, it meant that Derek and Shaw would be playing host to a good thirty-five, forty people, given that Derek’s Mamá had a lot of family in the city. He lucked out with most of his cousins being younger than him, so only a few of the girls and their mothers would be stopping by to shower him with more affection than what he’d received at Easter, when he’d finally let the family in on his lovely little secret.

Cleo, a friend of his from the creative writing program at Samwell who had settled in Long Island, is entertaining one of Shaw’s New York friends, Caro, as well as Ford, who had been kind enough to help with set-up for the day. In the corner Derek can see Ransom and Holster plotting. Next to them, Esther looks decidedly unimpressed, although she smiles prettily when Derek waves. Cradling a glass of jamaica next to the gift table is Shaw, in a pink ruffle-trimmed dress, speaking with an animated Shitty who has an elbow hooked around Jack’s neck. Just as he turns to save them all from one another, he catches sight of Dex.

He’s in a deep blue button up, tucked into belted black slacks. It looks like he’s just gotten his hair cut, though the top is left a little bit longer than usual, even if he’s long since abandoned his monthly cuts. He’s got an armful of Bittle-Zimmermann baby, Angelique-Marie babbling excitedly in an emerald green sleeveless dress. Dex is talking back at her, face animated in a way that Derek only ever sees when they’re around children. It makes something lock up in his chest.

He goes up to them anyway, voice lilting as he says, “Hey Angie, how’s it going?”

She has big, blue eyes and blonde curls that shine in the light that streams through the high windows of the little loft space they’ve rented out for the occasion. Angelique’s face lights up when she sees him, and she babbles at Dex, frantically patting his face.

“I think she’s excited to see you,” Dex says dryly. He looks absurdly pleased.

“You’re the baby whisperer, huh?” Derek says, “I’ll remember that come July.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “When was the last time you held a baby?”

“No idea,” Derek says. “My cousins are all younger than me, so maybe three of them have kids already. Maybe. Might just be the two who didn’t show up.”

“You have way more cousins than who showed up,” Dex says, “no way. You definitely have more than this.”

“Well, yeah,” he says, “Mamá was in charge of fine-tuning the list, and she hates everyone.”

“It’s a good size,” Dex says, shifting Angelique from one arm to the other. She snuggles against his collarbone, and Derek is _weak_. He can see the flex of muscles under Dex’s shirt all too easily.

“I think so,” Derek agrees, and together they stand, people-watching, until Bitty swoops in to say hello and make sure that Angelique isn’t being a handful.

“She’s perfect, Bits,” Dex says, smoothing his hand over her hair. She’s awake, but contemplative, eyeing her father like she’s trying to decide if she wants anything from him.

Bitty looks so, so fond, reaching out to rub the baby’s back for a moment. “You let me know if you need anything, you hear?” He turns to Derek. “Oh, Ransom mentioned wanting to ask you something? Or maybe it was Holster.”

“It’s one and the same,” Derek says, and cups his hand over Dex’s shoulder before he goes. “Do me a favor and go save Shaw? I’m afraid Shitty’s going to want to talk about the merits of socialism again and she’s too Polish for that.”

“Yikes,” Dex says, and Derek hopes it wasn’t ironic because he laughs a little too hard at it. Bitty quirks an eyebrow, but Dex’s expression is like – the only phrase Derek can come up with is _cat that ate the canary_.

“Thanks,” he says in lieu of anything else, and finds the former d-pair sitting at a still-empty table. “Where’s Esther?”

“She and Lardo are busy discussing their methods of maintaining power over their SO’s,” Ransom says, and Holster scowls.

“This isn’t about me,” he says, and fixes a look on Derek. He’s wearing his glasses. “Nursey, my man. Let’s chat.”

Derek blinks. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m too old for this.”

“C’mon, Nursey,” Ransom says, “we just wanna talk.”

“This sounds like a threat,” he says, but takes a seat anyway. He steals a bit of falafel from Ransom’s plate, dipping it in the borani next to it. It’s not quite as good as his dad’s. He says, mouth full, “How’ve you been?”

Holster says something like _howf_ under his breath, but Ransom ignores him. “Pretty good man. Thinking about making it official with the cute emergency room nurse soon.”

“You said that about Estelle, too, and that didn’t pan out,” Holster says.

“Why are you hung up on Estelle?” Ransom says, face caught between bewilderment and genuine amusement.

“I thought it was cute,” Holster mutters, “since Esther’s, you know, _est_ too.”

“You’re so dumb,” Ransom says, and bumps shoulders with him anyway. “I can’t wait for you and Esther to start reproducing.”

“Why do you phrase things like that,” Derek says, and Holster goes off on tangent about the costs of raising a child in metropolitan Canada. “I still can’t believe you and Ransom ended up swapping countries.”

“Bro’s gotta do what a bro’s gotta do,” Holster says.

“I also can’t believe you’re like, thirty-two and still talking like a frat boy.”

“I’m thirty-three,” he says, and Derek snorts. He steals some of his mango water.

“But, actually,” Ransom says, because he’s much better at staying on topic that Derek is, apparently, “we wanted to, like, obviously say congrats on the whole impending parenthood thing. Can’t believe you had to go and upstage us mere mortals by having twins.”

“Please tell me it was the first try,” Holster says, and Derek makes a face.

“Dude,” he says, and Ransom mirrors the expression.

“I’m just saying –”

“Anyway,” Ransom says, a little too loudly; he catches Shaw’s eye from where she’s standing with Dex and the baby. “We had a quick question.”

“About what?”

“Mm,” Ransom says, and then Holster goes, “Are you and Shaw a thing?”

“Dude,” Ransom says, “come on.”

“I just think you should put a ring on it if that’s the case,” Holster says, “it’s a little disrespectful.”

“Bro.”

“Like! If you’re having a kid together anyway, you might as well.”

“Babies aren’t a reason to get married,” Derek says, still processing. “My parents didn’t even think of having me until after all three of them got settled in together.”

“First of all, I love your parents’ love story,” Ransom says, “secondly, ignoring everything Holster thinks about the institution of marriage, his first question stands. Are you and Shaw in a legit relationship, or…?”

Derek takes several deep breaths. He feels very nauseous.

“No,” he says slowly. “We are not.”

“Okay, cool,” Ransom says. “Are you, like, sure? Because you two have known each other a really long time and sometimes friendship gets weird like that.”

“Uh –”

“There are a lot of photos of you in compromising positions,” Holster interjects. “I’m pretty sure someone has video of her giving you a lap dance.”

“And photos of her at her job back when she was a stripper.”

“Is she still stripping?” Holster asks.

“No,” Derek says. “She’s – we’re not – we’ve never been like that.”

“Really,” they both say, only Ransom’s voice is flat and Holster’s is bewildered.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you –”

“No, nope, we don’t believe you –”

“There’s just a lot of photos of you and her tits on Instagram.”

“A lot,” Holster repeats. “So many bikini pics.”

Derek blinks. “Shaw has plenty of her kissing Dex.”

“They have a more bro-like ambiance,” Holster says, which, what the fuck.

“ _Anyway_. Shaw’s too mean to be his type,” Ransom says, “like, she’s cool, I like her, you two are gonna be awesome parents, but. She’s mean. She made Shitty cry that one time.”

“He deserved it,” Derek says, and grins a little when Ransom nods. “What do you mean, Dex has a type?”

“Uhh,” Holster says, “this is absolutely not a knock on Shaw, because she’s beautiful inside and out or whatever, but Dex exclusively dates hot people. Like, burn your eyes hot. Ransom levels of hot.”

“Bro,” Ransom says, touched.

“Seriously,” Holster says, flinging an arm around Ransom, “remember Zaira?”

“Zaira?” Derek asks, “The, uh. Shit, she knew Ford, right?”

“Yeah, and she had a class with Dex too, I think. Sophomore year? That’s how they met.”

“Wait,” Derek says, feeling a little bit confused and also like his life is flashing before his eyes, because he _does_ remember Zaira, “wait, Dex dated while we were at Samwell?”

Ransom and Holster look at each other. “Uh. Bro. You were his roommate? Did you…not…notice?”

“He dated Zaira? Now-a-pop-star-Zaira?” Derek hisses. He looks around to make sure his voice doesn’t carry. Lardo and Leah look like they’re plotting something

“Ye-es,” Ransom says slowly, “also, her boyfriend, uh. Fuck. What was his name?”

“Chavez, right?” Holster says, “Baseball player? Something with a _hua_ sound. I think they’re engaged now.”

“What do you _mean_ , her boyfriend? Didn’t you just say –”

“They were poly, Derek,” Ransom says, like _he’s_ the one being ridiculous. Derek needs to lie down.

“What are you saying to me,” he says, a little weakly. His hands might be shaking.

“Nothing,” Ransom says, as Holster says, thoughtful, “I mean, you’re definitely his type, though.”

Ransom shoots him a look. Derek’s mouth is horribly dry, and he takes the proffered drink when Ransom hands him his glass.

“What?” Holster says, defensive. “Stupidly pretty? Killer jawline? Ass?”

“Holster, oh my god.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Shaw’s ass,” Derek says.

“Nurse, for the love of – why are you two like this?” Ransom says, and stands to get more snacks. Holster calls after him for more hummus.

“But seriously,” Holster says, turning back to Derek. “You didn’t know about Zaira and Chavez? They got together after we _graduated_ and I still found out.”

“I…I never knew what Dex was into,” Derek says. Holster looks at him for a long moment, blue eyes unreadable behind his glasses.

He seems to hesitate before he speaks, but his jaw sets like he’s committed. “I’m almost positive the only reason he never made a move was because of Shaw, you know. That summer…the summer before you all moved into the Haus, she started popping up on your feed.”

“…It was a rough summer.”

“Ransom mentioned getting a few messages,” Holster says, “not obvious, but. Ransom’s perceptive, you know? But then the semester started up for you guys and I think Shaw went to visit you or something and then he started dating those other two. I don’t know, man. I thought you knew.”

“Fuck,” Derek says, and puts his head on the table. _Fuck_.

\---

Dex sticks around to help them clean up. Bitty had tried to as well, but Shaw had shooed him out as soon as Derek’s cousins had been convinced to leave with his parents. They expect him to meet them at an aunt’s house for dinner. Shaw is invited too. Ford lingers as well, folding up table cloths and wiping tables down as needed. He hears her voice intermingling with Dex’s as they swap stories.

Ford is teaching at Emory for the year, finishing up a two-year post-doc program in anthropology. Derek loves her work.

“You guys doing anything tonight?” he asks as they finish, one hand hovering at the small of Shaw’s back and the other carrying more gifts than he probably should.

“Grabbing dinner together, probably,” Ford says, flashing a smile. “You two wanna join?”

“Damn,” Derek says, “I wish. My family’s throwing a little thing.”

“A _second_ baby shower?” Dex asks. His shirt is wrinkled where Angelique was held. Derek swallows.

“Unofficially,” he admits, “they’re just. Excited.”

“First baby from a male cousin,” Shaw says, bemused. “They keep telling me I’m fat. As a compliment.”

“Fat is not inherently positive or negative,” Derek says. He’s only a little monotonous.

“It’s just _funny_ ,” Shaw insists. “They always look so happy to say it.”

“Twins, Shaw,” Derek says, and ducks her swat when she retaliates against his pinching her.  The elevator opens, and they step in while discussing their weekend plans. Dex seems to linger farther from Derek then necessary, but he tells himself it’s just because the girls are in between them. He’s seeing things.

About halfway down Ford says, “Oh, wait, I think I left my phone upstairs.” She pats her pockets frantically, starts digging through her purse.

“Are you sure?” Dex says, bending a little so he can hold the bag open for her.

“Shoot,” she says, tilting it side to side to get more light into it. “I definitely did.” She looks to Shaw. “Did we leave everything unlocked up there?”

“Yeah,” she says, “I’m pretty sure the door was left open too. Do you remember where it is? It shouldn’t take too long for us to get back up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ford says, “let me get off on this floor and grab it, and I’ll just meet Dex downstairs after, I don’t want to hold you guys up.”

“It’s really not a problem,” Shaw says, but Ford insists, smiling blindingly. Shaw acquiesces finally, and the ride down is silent once Ford steps out to grab her phone despite their protests. The building is relatively quiet on the ground floor, a few workers and clients walking in and out of the glass doors.

Shaw says, “Could we wait outside? It’s so cold in here,” and they step out, lingering just outside of the doors. The temperature is a comfortable seventy degrees or so, if Derek is guessing correctly. Shaw is humming.

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” she says, looking at Dex. Her tone is too light.

Derek knows that Dex has noticed it, too. “Um, yeah. I think it was a good turnout.”

“Well, most of our friends came out.” When she smiles Derek feels panic.

He runs his knuckles down her spine, hoping the touch will dissipate whatever mood she’s suddenly in. His hand jerks when he notices Dex watching the movement. Shaw notices, too, and her lips twitch – painted coral rose, and swollen this far into the pregnancy. In seven weeks they’ll be parents.

Dex doesn’t seem to know what to say, so Derek says, “Chowder said he’d have some free time in between a shoot next week. I think he said something about dinner on Thursday?”

“That’s the day of your reading, isn’t it?” Shaw says, still watching Dex, whose eyebrows furrow.

“You have a reading?”

Derek can't get anything out. He feels like something’s slipping through his fingertips.

“Uh, yeah. I should be getting advance copies of the collection soon.”

“You’re not too busy, right?” Shaw says. The shift is giving Derek whiplash. “We can go to the reading and then grab drinks. Or, well, you three can grab drinks.”

Derek tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She frowns at him.

“I – yeah,” Dex says, “yeah, that would be nice.”

“I haven’t seen Chris is in forever,” Shaw says, “when was the last time the three of you were together?”

She poses the question to the both of them, but something peculiar happens. Time seems the slightest bit off. When Derek looks between them, he finds Shaw wide-eyed, like she’s plotting something. She seems content, though. Dex, on the other hand, has started to tense up, shoulders crawling upwards and his mouth beginning to pinch at the corner. His eyes are somewhere near Shaw’s collarbone, where he can no doubt see how Derek has his fingers curled around the back of her neck. Uncomfortable is the only way Derek can think to describe him.

What Derek does next is very stupid.

“It’ll be fun,” he says, and Dex meets his eyes for a split second. The gaze is cut off too soon, though, because he uses his grip to turn Shaw’s head towards him, and, without thinking about the ramifications of his life choices, leans in to kiss her. Her mouth is plush, half-open in surprise, and he gets about three seconds of casual pressure before her knuckle is digging into his peck, palm then opening to push against him. She shoves hard enough that he has to lean away from her.

“Nurse, the hell,” Shaw says, hand flying up to touch her mouth. Her cupid’s bow is smudged. Her eyes are lit up, dangerous.

When he looks at Dex he looks concerned. Confused. _Jealous_. He seems caught between tensing further and letting it bleed out of him in increments. Shaw, when he looks back to her, is completely bewildered and rather irritated.

“What are you doing?” she demands, putting a hand out so he can’t step into her space any further.

“I…” Derek isn’t sure what to say. If he thinks about it, he’ll notice the difference between now and the last time he kissed her like that, after the last sonogram. This time feels selfish. Her expression shifts like she knows it too.

Dex reaches out to her, says, “Hey, wait, are you –”

“This is ridiculous,” she says, twisting out of his grip, “Christ, what was that?”

“Hey,” Derek says, taking a step after her. She glares at him.

“This is the most awkward moment of my life,” Shaw says, scowling. Aries, Derek reminds himself.

Dex looks confused now. “Are you okay?”

“Tell Ford it was great seeing her again,” she says to him, touching his arm in goodbye. “I’ll see you sometime next week, okay?”

“Are you two alright?” Dex asks him, looking genuinely concerned as she starts to away. Derek gives himself five seconds to take a deep breath.

“We’re not together,” he admits, watches Dex’s expression flit between _disbelief-confusion-hope_ ,

“What?” Shaw says, loud. She twists back to face them again; her eyebrows are hilariously high. “Are you serious?” she says to Derek. She looks between the two of them before tossing her head back. “This is ridiculous.”

“Uh,” Derek says as she turns away, wanting to look at Dex desperately but still unwilling to face the way all his fears are reflected in Dex’s expression, “I gotta – I’ll text you later, I – tell Ford the same, sorry, I don’t know –”

Shaw’s only a few yards away when he catches up to her, but she pulls her wrist out of his grip when he reaches out.

“Nurse.”

“Shaw,” Derek says, “Jesus, I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

The stoplight is green, and Shaw moves remarkably fast for someone with two three-pound fetuses inside of her. Derek is still clutching at the gifts that were dropped off, a cream cardigan half-hanging out of one them. He feels out of his depth. He feels like shit.

“You’re an idiot,” Shaw says when the next light is red. Normally Derek would cross anyway, but he refuses to out of respect to his unborn children this time.

“I know.”

“Seriously.” Shaw turns to him, expression serious and mouth as thin a line as her mouth can manage at this stage. “Bro. That was uncalled for. That was uncomfortable.”

“I should have asked –”

“No,” Shaw interrupts, “shut up. If you wanna kiss me, kiss me because you want to, not because you want to know if he cares – which, by the way, he does! He’s always cared! He cared the day I met him and he’ll care when the kids are born and he’ll probably care the day I fucking die, Derek. That was so incredibly stupid of you. What were you even – what was the point?”

Derek is quiet. The light changes. She lets him rest his hand at her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m trying to set you up,” she says, “I mean, as much as I can. All of us hanging out is the closest I can get. Why would you kiss me? Why would you let him think we were together!”

“I didn’t know if he cared,” Derek says quietly. He debates calling a cab.

“You’re infuriating,” she says to him.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

\---

He grabs lunch with Shitty and Lardo the next day, before they head back to Boston. He shares the events of the night before, trying to emphasize the crazy antics of his family once he and Shaw arrived, only for Shitty to interrupt with, “Brah…please. Communication is everything,” which only made Derek feel more stressed.

Thursday comes all too quickly, and he hasn’t spoken to Dex outside of the group chat they’ve shared with Chowder since undergrad. He’s the last to arrive to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe – which isn’t to say he’s late, of course, just everyone else is just too early. Chowder nearly knocks them into another table when he arrives.

“Nursey!” he says, absolutely beaming. Derek feels a wave of fondness roll over him, sees Dex shaking his head at them, and knows this moment is perfect all by itself. There’s nothing he needs more.

“Hey, C,” he says, returning the embrace. His arms are tight around Chowder’s waist, and he presses his forehead against the shirsey-clad shoulder he’s been offered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says, and tugs him into a seat next to him. Shaw is bracketed between Chowder and Dex, is sipping water out of a bottle. She waves her fingers at him, eyebrows raised.

He kicks at her feet, narrowly avoiding Dex’s from the expression on his face. “Have I missed anything?”

“Baby pictures,” Dex says after a beat, and Chowder grins.

“Are you complaining?”

“I love kids,” Dex says, half-defensive, but his expression is halfway to the soft look he gets around Angelique and his brother’s kids. When he looks to Derek it feels purposeful, making something fluttery settle in Derek’s stomach.

“All we have to talk about now is babies,” Shaw says, leaning against Dex as well as she can, “I didn’t realize it would happen so soon.”

“It’s because you don’t want to tell us what names you’re thinking of,” Chowder says, “Nursey, tell us what she’s planning.”

Derek stretches, lets his arm fall over Chowder’s shoulder. He says, “I can’t help you there, man, she won’t give any useful opinions.”

“Are you not invested in the names of your children?” Dex asks her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You guys are so weird,” she says, “Nurse just keeps asking me about _culturally relevant_ names. Like, my name is Goscislawa. I’m not inflicting that shit on my kids.”

“Say it again,” Dex says, and yelps immediately after. Derek guesses Shaw pinched him. He goes red when several patrons turn their heads to see who made the noise.

“She won’t tell me anything,” Derek complains to Chowder, sticking his tongue out when Shaw scowls at him.

“I like Gabriel,” Shaw says. “Magical realism is the shit.”

“You can’t just choose names you think I’ll like,” Derek says. His three counterparts fit him with unimpressed looks. “What?”

“Does that sound good in Polish?” Chowder asks, and Shaw smiles at him. He’s a natural charmer.

“It does,” she says, “although I still don’t know if I’m going to teach it to them. It’s not a super useful language, you know?”

“My dad could have said the same about Farsi,” Derek says, and Shaw shrugs.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, and then asks, “when are you performing, anyway?”

“Yeah, Nursey!” Chowder says, “You’re like, half the reason I scheduled this trip.”

“You had a shoot with Bauer this morning,” Dex says. Chowder waves him off.

“Half the reason,” he insists, and Derek laughs despite the butterflies he feels. Dex is still looking at him like it means something.

Derek’s got three pieces picked for tonight. The first, _One Last Lovesong_ , is about Dex. It’s so thoroughly about Dex he’s surprised it doesn’t show own his face, though he’s been told that oftentimes it does. The second is called _Mangú_ , an ode to parenthood he wrote before he and Shaw even started trying for a baby, and the third is called _Pulp_ , about his mother. The latter two are the safe options. They’re the ones he should read.

“I read towards the end,” he tells them, “in like an hour, hopefully. It’s a private reading, you know, pretty chill. Shouldn’t take too long. We can get tapas after.”

“That’s not real food,” Dex says, just as Chowder goes, “Oh, I love tapas.” They stare at each other. Dex sighs.

“They’re okay,” he concedes, and Chowder grins beatifically.

He says to Derek, “Anyway, let me show you the newest light of my life,” and Derek laughs.

The lights dim after maybe fifteen minutes, and Derek finishes sending himself the last of the photos Chowder showed him just as a butch woman steps onto stage. She introduces the event and the first reader, a friend of his named Malu whose first novel is being released two weeks after his. They’re a fiction-writer with roots in the Bronx, and Derek vaguely remembers them saying their family is from Mexico. They always have their nails done perfectly, and they have a massive tattoo that stretches over their collarbone.

Derek settles in for a good night, and all too soon it’s his turn. Chowder looks ecstatic, as if he didn’t know Derek was going to be reading. Shaw is smiling, as is Dex, whose own grin is a little quieter, a little bit more intimate despite the public place. Derek isn’t going to read _Pulp_.

“Hey, everyone,” he says when he gets up to the stage. “Thanks for having me. This is from my forthcoming collection, _Macorisano_. See, my mom’s from Consuelo, and if you’re from the same province in the DR then you’re a _petromacorisano._ That’s a mouthful, though, right? I like to think I pulled a _Chicanx_ thing, though I’m sure Malu and all my favorite Chicanos and Chicanas will tell me I’m wrong.” Derek shrugs, grins at the scattered laughs it earns him. “That’s okay, though. This piece is called _One Last Lovesong_.”

He takes a breath, stepping away from the mic and then close again. He closes his eyes. Opens them.

Derek says, “Loving you is like someone ripped my fucking heart out,” and when he looks at Dex, he knows.

“My ma would argue with me.  
Say, _baby, that's not how love works._  
The bad things don't make the good things worth it.  
I say, okay, because that's not how love works.  
I say okay, because that's not how loving you has worked.”

He meets Chowder’s eyes, Shaw’s, Dex’s. He sees everything. He feels breathless.

“I say, I say,  
I say loving you is like coming home  
to a house that don’t need you,  
but wants you anyway.  
Loving you is like fireworks going off six feet in front of you.  
Like you gotta remember how to listen.  
Loving you is shouting in an empty room,  
and a voice telling you, _enough_.”

Is _this_ enough? Derek’s voice starts to shake a little, and goddamn if he isn’t too old to still feel this nervous.

“I've had the heartbreaks, I've had the luck.  
I used to take girls dancing  
and they thought me king.  
I used to write a man a sonnet  
and he'd look at me like _I_ was the summer day.  
I used to look at my parents  
and think that's what I wanted,  
that's what I'll get.”

He pauses. Licks his lips. He looks straight at Dex and there’s no way, no way, that he can’t know what this means. What Derek is finally saying.

“I got you, with that fucking mouth that haunts me.  
All you do is piss me off.  
You, with the mouthwatering waist.  
The eyes that catch me every time.  
You got hands like Michelangelo.  
Treat me like a work of art.  
In your eyes I find the sunrise,  
like I'm back in the motherland,  
A papaya pipe dream just for me.  
I see stars.”

Dex’s mouth parts.

“I bet you'd find it funny  
if you knew all this was true.  
Love is love even if you don't know it.  
Even if you don't want me.  
And if that's the case then I guess I'll at least have this.  
Me loving you the only way I know how.  
Like someone ripped my heart out.  
Like you were made for me.”

\---

There are only two readings after he sits back down. Chowder’s palm curls warmly over his knee, hidden by the table. Shaw doesn’t care what anyone thinks, because she reaches across the table to hold his hand, and he lets her. Dex can’t keep his eyes off him.

When the lights start up, Malu comes by to say hello and offer their congratulations to Shaw. They get caught up in a conversation, and Chowder says, low, “How about Shaw and I meet you back at your place, and we order in?”

“Chowder…” Derek isn’t sure what he should say.

“You two need to talk,” Chowder says. His voice is serious, expression too. Derek looks at him for a long minute before he feels all the air rush out of him. “You know I’m right.”

“You’re always right,” Derek says, looking to Dex, who’s hovering a little nervously at Shaw’s elbow, occasionally responding to something she or Malu says. “Fuck. I did this to myself.”

“Go big or go home,” Chowder says.

“Can I just go home?”

“No,” and Chowder shoves him a little. “Come on. It’s time you got your man, man.”

“I hate us,” Derek says, but steps forward to snag Shaw away anyway.

Chowder’s the best wingman. He manages to get Shaw across the street faster than Derek and Dex can move, going from next to them, awkwardly hovering outside the cafe entrance, to across the street it what must be six seconds. Shaw waves cheerfully next to him.

“Meet at your place?” she shouts, and turns and walks off with Chowder before Derek can respond, the crowd swallowing them up despite the hour.

Derek looks at Dex, whose gaze skitters away from his despite the way it keeps coming back to him. He thinks, absurdly, of an old report on the social norms of Cuban women.

Dex says, “I think we need to talk.” Derek wants to smooth the way his eyebrows furrow. He wants to touch his skin.

“Come on,” Derek says, ignoring the way his stomach drops, reaching out to tug on Dex’s elbow.  “Cross the street with me. There’s a garden right there.”

Dex goes with him willingly, pliantly, silently. Derek allows himself a bit of hope.

Brisas del Caribe Garden usually has patrons from Nuyorican stop by, but so far, it’s still mostly empty. Derek leads them towards the back so that they can have some quiet, even if Dex’s silence is throwing him for a horrible, horrible loop at the moment.

There’s a bench beneath a tree, painted white, sturdy-looking and solid. They sit, closer perhaps than they would have when they first met but still so much farther than what Derek would like.

They’re silent for no more than thirty seconds, but the time stretches between them, the sounds of the city deafening, suddenly. There are so many things Derek wants to say, wants to do. He starts in the beginning.

“I ever tell you how my parents met?” he asks, and Dex finally, finally meets his eyes. He shakes his head, but his gaze lingers, and Derek thinks yet again, _this is it_. “They met on Mami’s first tour at NYU. She was seventeen. My dad was the tour guide.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” and Derek laughs. “Mami claims she didn’t recognize him when she started in the fall. They met in an introductory English course, can you believe?”

“Of course they did.”

“And then they took the same psych elective, because my mami’s smart as fuck and tested out of the intro course. And, you know, my dad’s a psychiatrist. The way my dad tells it, he recognized the freshman girl from a tour the year before, that they had only spoken a time or two during their discussions the semester they took English together. But he says that he finally looked her in the eye in the middle of _Language and the Mind_ and poof! That was it. He was gone for her.”

“What’s your mom say?” Dex asks. His voice sounds warm, and Derek lets it wash over him for a moment, for as long as he can.

“She says it’s bullshit.”

Dex laughs.

“She says…she says that this good-looking dude with green eyes came up to her two weeks before midterms and asked if she’d help him study. Says that the only reason she didn’t say no was because she knew he wasn’t white.” Derek barks a laugh. His parents are ridiculous. “Says he spent the rest of the semester trying to get on her good graces, and that when summer came she couldn’t believe she missed him. They started dating in the fall, he got into med school, they got married the summer Mami graduated.”

“And, uh. Your other mom?”

“Who, Mamá?”

“Nurse,” Dex – _Will_ laughs. Derek’s been looking at him this entire time. He’s been looking right back.

“Mami was in law school,” Derek says. “They were in court for some case, something not too serious, but, you know, still illegal. Mamá was the interpreter. And, after, Mami couldn’t get her out of her head. Told Dad about it, said she must have gave her the evil eye for how airheaded she was acting about it.”

Derek grins, at Will and then at the sky. “And then one day my dad came to pick my mami up, and Mamá out of nowhere runs out of the building, gets their attention, and says, _I’m not trying to get in the way of a good thing, you know, but I think you might want me to at least get in on it_. Mami says it was the weirdest thing to happen to her. Dad says she was on board from the start.”

“And that’s the story of your two moms?”

“Nah,” he says, “that’s the story of my parents. That’s the story of _me._ ”

Will bites his lip. Derek tracks the movement.

“I didn’t realize,” he says slowly, “that you and Shaw…that this was a friend thing. That you wanted kids now, with anyone. I thought. I thought the two of you…”

“Shaw and I have never been like that,” Derek says. “I know we take a lot of questionable photos together, but it’s mostly because she hates wearing clothes. I know you’ve seen it firsthand.”

“We spent most of 2020 in our underwear together,” Will admits, butterflies starting up in Derek’s belly. “But I always. She’s always flirting. You’re always flirting right back.”

“That’s just me,” he says. His voice comes out pleading, and he wonders, _for wha_ t. “That’s just us.”

“I – I don’t know, man. I guess it just made sense.”

Derek says, “I don’t know either, man. I guess. I can see why, someone might think that. But you – you and Chowder, you guys know everything about me. I would have told you. I wouldn’t have hid that.”

“I know that,” Will says. “Or. I don’t know, I let my – uh, I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“Would me and Shaw have been the worst thing in the world?” Derek asks.

“That’s not what I mean,” Will says, frowning. His face is slowly going pink. Derek lets his shoulder knock against his, then lets it rest there, warm and solid. He hopes it’s comforting. “Come on. I just. It just came out of nowhere.”

“That…that I can understand. But, man. It’s not like. It’s not like either of us stopped acting the way we always have, together or – or with you, you know?”

That might be a lie, considering Derek’s awkward everything, but he hopes Will lets it slide.

“I was ignoring how she flirts with me,” Will says, grinning a little, “but fuck if I wasn’t confused as hell when she kept doing it after you told me you two were having kids.”

“Because we’re all single,” Derek says, smiling back, “and, well. Shaw still wants to have sex with you.”

“I’m going to shelf that,” Will says, the red along his cheekbones intensifying, “because. That’s. I’m going to shelf that.”

“I appreciate it,” Derek says. He shifts closer, knees touching now, and looks at Will for a minute, says, “I know this situation, right now, at this second, might seem to prove otherwise, but. I think I have this whole adulthood thing down. I’m working for an _Ivy_. I technically own a house, even though obviously that’s because my mom has a big family and we’re reclaiming the concept of inheritances. But, like, I feel like now was the best time to have a baby. And, I mean. Shaw _is_ my best friend. One of them.” Will’s eyes look almost brown in the low light, but he knows it’s just a trick. He says, “I wanted to have a baby with someone I love.”

Will’s eyebrows pull together. He reaches out, hesitantly, and rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder. He says, “I always kind of thought…I always imagined raising a family with my best friend.”

Will says, "I imagined it with _you_."

Derek feels his heart race. He’s sweating. He says, “Dex. Will. I didn’t even. I didn’t even know you were dating someone back at Samwell. I was never – it was always you, for me. Every person I’ve dated since graduating has fucking, _God_ , paled in comparison. There’s no one else.”

He watches the flush intensify prettily across his face, watches it stretch down his neck. He says, not for the first time, but to _Will_ for the first time: “Will. I’ve been in love you for so long I don’t know how I fucking stand it,” and then Will kisses him.

The year he met Shaw, they kissed once. In the milliseconds it takes him to comprehend that Will Poindexter has slung an arm around him and touched his mouth with his, and to then kiss him back, he thinks of that summer.

Derek loves kissing. Could do it for hours upon hours with nothing but his arms around the person that deigns accept his affections. It was late July 2016, and he’d spoken to Will the day before, and he and Shaw were wine-drunk at seven o’clock. He was twenty years old and hopelessly in love with his best friend, the same one who didn’t seem to want him in any capacity. Shaw, nineteen with a chip on her shoulder, hair past her waist and in a black maxi with a slit up the thigh, was there and beautiful and unwillingly broken-hearted over the Other Derek.

Wet was playing in the street, and there was still a healthy sized crowd passing through, the Up & Up slowly filling behind them. They were close to the curb, where they couldn’t get in the way, because Shaw still hadn’t gotten the hang of busy-street-conduct. They were joking about something they shouldn’t have been joking about – probably about love, or family, or the future. The fear that lived in all of it.

She said, “You’re my favorite person in this cursed city,” shooting for sarcastic, but she’d been laughing so hard she was dimpling, and the summer freckles he’d watched come in danced alongside the mole beneath her eye. Kissing her then, like now, has always been something he can never quite control. He took a step forward, and then another, and then he was cupping her face with one hand, the other on her waist as he kissed her. He could feel her smile into the kiss, before she tilted her head and opened her mouth against his, her tongue slick against his lower lip. Her arms had come up to curl around his neck, fingers clutching at his collar. She kissed like she was trying to find a home in him.

Will doesn’t kiss the same way. His mouth closes over Derek’s sweetly; so sweetly it aches. He’s warm and smells like mint and eucalyptus. The scent of coffee clings to him. His mouth opens slightly against Derek’s, and he mirrors the action on pure instinct. Will’s mouth is soft and moist when it closes over Derek’s lower lip, and Derek thinks of how Will licks his lips when he’s nervous, thinks of all the things he wants to do to him.

Derek freezes, starts up, freezes again. He bites down, a sting so that neither drown in this sweetness, and Will soothes him so easily, mouth pursing under his. Their tongues brush in the next kiss, and Derek makes a noise like he’s falling. His hand curls over Will’s thigh where it’s pressed against his. Vaguely, he wonders what this looks like, from the outside looking in. Will’s hand moves up to his shoulder, the grip on his collar unmistakable, his other curled around Derek’s elbow possessively.

Derek, mouth slick, breath shallow, eyes closed, says, “Will,” and Will stops. Their mouths are so close Derek thinks they should be touching. He kisses him again, once, gently, gently, before pulling back an inch or two. He bites his lip, a movement Will tracks with briefly before meeting his eyes again.

He takes a deep breath, because he doesn’t want to do this, but he has to say it aloud. Will’s grip on his elbow tightens for a second before sliding down his arm to tangle their hands together. The arm over his shoulders settles more gently on him, still possessive but less desperate. Derek says, “Are we doing this?”

Will looks at him, eyes glowing gold in the low light of the park’s lights. There aren’t many about, and no one’s started a scene about the show the two of them must have put on.

Will says, voice cracking, “You’re everything I want,” and Derek has to kiss him again before the tears come, happy as they may be.

\---

At precisely thirty-eight weeks, the same morning the doctor plans to induce Shaw, her water breaks. It’s early, not even eight-thirty on the last Thursday of July. It’s just he and Shaw in his apartment, having moved the last of the necessary baby items into his apartment. She’ll be staying with him until classes start during the first week of September, at the very least. Derek’s still working on convincing her to stay more than forty days, the bare minimum that Mami is expecting.

Shaw is standing at the counter, drinking a red raspberry tea in hopes of inducing contractions when, mid-word, she freezes. She sets her cup down and pushes away from the counter slightly, head bent.

“Shaw?” Derek asks. He has a half-eaten apple in his hand and is wearing tiny pajama shorts he bought because he wanted to chirp Bitty. Shaw takes a deep breath and then winces. Derek takes a step closer to the counter to see her clutching at her stomach and a wet patch growing along the inseam of her stretchy gray sweats. “Oh my god.”

“My water broke,” Shaw says, probably concerned that he’ll accuse her of peeing. Derek has yet to live down the time a particularly hearty sneeze caught her unawares.

Derek promptly loses chill.

“Oh shit,” he says, and starts frantically looking for his shoes. Shaw takes a careful seat on one of the bar chairs.

“They’re on the other side of the couch.”

“Shit, fuck, right,” he says, tripping. He’s probably taking too long. “Are you okay?”

“I’m contracting.”

“Ooooh my god,” Derek says, trying to not freeze in fear. It’s happening. His babies are on the way.

“Derek.”

He spins around, taking a step towards her with both shoes in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Please put your shoes on,” she says, “they’re a little less than twenty minutes apart.”

“You’ve _been_ contracting?”

“I’m thirty-eight weeks today, Derek,” she says, jaw clenched. Her eyebrow twitches. “Contractions are normal at this stage. Shoes.”

He stuffs his feet into them as he says, “You could have mentioned that.”

“We’ve been packed and ready to go for weeks,” she says, and when she stands he goes to support her. She leans into him like she’s exhausted, something she’s never done during the pregnancy (but definitely something she’s done when drunk before). “You ready?”

“For sure,” he says, and makes sure to grab their baby gear on the way out.

By the time they make it to the hospital the contractions are perhaps twelve minutes apart. Shaw calls their OBY en route, and Derek texts Will. He asks, not for the first time, if it’s alright if he’s there for the birth.

“I can’t believe _this_ is gonna be the first time he sees my pussy,” Shaw says, scowling. Their taxi driver makes eye contact with Derek. “But, God, obviously. Aren’t you gonna marry him?”

“We just started dating,” Derek says, voice cracking. He coughs.

“You’ve been in love for the last, like, ten years,” she says flatly. “You’ve loved him longer than you’ve known me.”

“But –”

She breathes sharply, hand tightening on his. “ _Fuck_.” He rubs her shoulder.

“We got this,” he says, and hopes it soothes at least one of them.

Once they’re checked in, labor stalls for four hours. Shaw is pacing their room when Will shows up, looking flustered and excited.

“Hey,” he says, kissing Shaw and then Derek hello. Derek has no problem admitting how pleased he is with it. “How are you doing?”

“Look at me,” she says slowly, “and then ask again.” He grimaces.

“Are you dilating?”

“I love you,” she says, and it comes out a little desperate. “I really do. But I fucking hate you right now.”

Will frowns again, and Derek sees the way his eyes dance with joy. “I didn’t even get you pregnant.”

“God,” she says, “how fun would _that_ have been?” She leers as Will flushes red, only to immediately brace herself against the bed when another contraction hits. “Fuck! Also, _fuck_ , three centimeters when they checked an hour ago.”

“That’s good?”

“We’ve been here over three hours,” Derek says. Will turns to look at him.

“Rapid labor can cause damage to the mother,” Will says, and Shaw starts laughing, breathless.

“Poindexter, you asshole, have you read up on this?”

Will is still blushing. “My brother has kids.”

“You helped out that much?” Derek teases.

“Assholes,” Shaw says, affectionate, and then squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. “Okay, I need one of you to get Dr. Rivera, these are less than five minutes apart.”

“You’re a good luck charm,” he says to Will, and then stands to help Shaw sit down. Her face is pale, and he brushes a strand of hair that’s escaped her hastily-done braid out of her face. He kisses her brow gently. “Be right back.”

When he and Dr. Rivera arrive Will is sitting in the chair Derek had been using, holding Shaw’s hand and speaking to her in a low, gentle voice. She’s smiling at something he says when they walk in, and the brief, happy expression on her face quickly morphs into one of pain.

“Alright, honey,” Dr. Rivera says, approaching the bed, “let’s see how you’re doing.” Her hair is pinned back in a chignon, a few silver wisps shining in the bright light of the hospital room. Derek goes to stand at Shaw’s other side to provide her some privacy in light of her entire lower half being on display.

“Everything looking good?” Will asks, and Shaw reaches over to pinch him.

Dr. Rivera looks amused. “Perfect,” she says, “Miss Szalasny, you’re seven centimeters dilated.”

“Oh thank God,” she says, “but also what the fuck, why is birth like this.”

Hiding a laugh, Dr. Rivera says, “Lots of reasons, honey. You feel like you need an epidural?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, “I have been trying very hard not to scream.”

Derek blinks. “Really? You’ve been taking it like a champ.”

“High pain tolerance,” Shaw says, and then, “but seriously, I would love some painkillers.”

“Gotcha, honey,” Dr. Rivera says, standing up and throwing out her gloves. “Dr. Hardwick – Lacey – should be in within the next twenty minutes.”

“I appreciate you,” Shaw says, sincere.

After that, time goes smoothly. Lacey is in and out in fifteen minutes, Derek jokes about putting on Shaw’s old dance playlist, and an hour and half later the first baby is crowning. Shaw is panting, hands knuckling from how hard she’s clutching at the handrails near her head.

“Derek,” she hisses, reaching out to dig her nails into his bicep, “I can’t believe I let you convince me to have a baby with you. And now, I’m having two.”

He tries not to let the fear show on his face. “Two birds, one stone?” he offers.

Will shakes his head at him, carefully grabbing at Shaw’s other hand. He says something to her in a low voice, and affection flickers across her face.

Dr. Rivera says, “Are you ready?” and Shaw says yes.

Within minutes Derek has not one but two children, a boy and a girl with flat, wet curls and healthy screeching lungs. He starts crying when the nurse asks him to cut the umbilical cords, and Shaw says, “Will, please help him.”

They’re absolutely perfect. His daughter and his son are beautiful. Derek didn’t think he could love like this.

“I love you,” he says to the little boy in arms. Maybe he’s a Martí. The doctors have given them a few moments to themselves, though he thinks he sees a nurse or two with hearts in their eyes hovering at the door. He touches the baby’s plush mouth gently. Shaw, gown tugged down so their daughter – Salomé, perhaps – can feel the heat of her skin, looks at him still starry-eyed.

She says, “That was the most painful experience of my life. I would do it again for these little potato sacks.”

“I love our potato sack children,” he says, the smile coming unbidden to his mouth.

“I can’t believe the two of you have _children_ together,” Will says from the other side of Shaw. He says it flatly, like he’s unimpressed, but Derek recognizes the greedy look in his eyes. Derek loves it. He loves this.

“Shaw, let’s switch,” he says after a minute, and carefully puts their son opposite his sister. He rubs a gentle hand over her drying curls. When he and Shaw make eye contact, she has the same knowing look in her eye as she did the first time she met Will.

“Let Will hold her,” she says, and Will’s head swivels to her in shock. Derek is impressed, too. Based off how his cousins reacted when they had kids, he’d figured Shaw would be unwilling to let anyone other than he or the nurses hold them. In his head her voice echoes, _Aren’t you gonna marry him?_

“Are you sure?” Will says. He seems nervous suddenly.

Shaw looks at him. Her eyes clear for a moment. She fixes him with a steady gaze. “Poindexter. You’re in a relationship with the father of my children. He’s known you over ten years, and I’ve known you a little less than that.”

“I –”

“Will, if I didn’t think you and Nurse were a forever thing I wouldn’t have let you past the doorway.” she says, sharp. “God, the two of you have been like this for years. Hold my fucking kid. I know you’re gonna love them.” After a moment she amends, “I mean, assuming you don’t already.”

“I do,” Will breathes, already reaching out. Derek thinks of him saying it in a different context, feels his heart race. Shaw passes a hand over the soft curls of the child still on her chest.

“I know, honey,” she says, and Derek leans in to kiss her sloppily, his mouth just missing hers.

“Thank you,” he says, fervent. She blinks, smiles. Her eyes are tired but she looks more alive than he’s ever seen her.

“I love you,” she says simply. Her eyelashes are clumped together, thick. He kisses her again, this time closer to her nose than not.

“I love you too,” he says, and when he looks at Will he’s smiling.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly thank u to all who have read / commented / left kudos on this story. i'm happy to know that this was enjoyable to people who aren't me, a known DILF aficionado.
> 
> if u would like an actual image to the name i invite u to envision shaw as weronika spyrka in the face and @uglyworldwide's body-ody-ody. no one stands a chance. that said, feel free 2 imagine her less white lmao i couldn't figure out a way to make her mexican without it getting overly complicated on her dad's side asldkfjsld
> 
> idk what kind of questions might linger here but in hopes of answering them:  
> 1\. yes, derek's parents are poly  
> 2\. no, shaw never slept with dex :(  
> 3\. yes, that's chino and zaira!  
> 4\. aida safi and gabriel darío nurse-szalasny usually default to poindexter once they're old enough tbqh
> 
> :)


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